


Sacred

by AnnEllspethRaven, Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Cooking, Demisexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Bottoming, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Marriage, Multi, Polygamy, Special Appearance by Sassfaloth, Telepathy, The Cottage of Lost Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 22:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Gardening doesn’t just happen out of doors. What begins imperfectly outside ends perfectly inside. Love, baby beets, peaches, and everlasting commitment. Don’t forget the fertilizer.





	1. In the Spring an old elf's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, a huge thanks to AnnEllspethRaven. On May Day, I was sent a link to a document with a few pages of the beginnings of... something. At that time, I think we both thought that a nice little gardening story was going to occur. But something else just seemed to be there, yet unwritten on those remaining blank pages, and in very short order, six pages became ninety-nine (and also, the beginning of another story). 
> 
> What started as 'Boys Will Be Boys' has now become what I feel is going to be one of 'those' pieces -- one of the things that marks an important milestone. I always knew what I wanted to call this story when it happened, but I never knew if it would actually happen or not. I think both Fingon and I needed the extra nudge that AnnEllspethRaven was able to provide. <3 Thank you.
> 
> To you, dear readers... long ago (some may even remember it), I used to pull some crazy holiday-related stunts in this fandom. I had Easter Egg hunts on my site, where clicking on an egg would open a page to a new story, or advent calendars with new stories and chapters and art every day. I have to thank AnnEllspethRaven a second time -- for putting up with me wanting to release this today, and the push to get it all finished (and edited!) in time. Hobbits celebrate birthdays by giving gifts to others, and this is a gift to Bunniverse readers on my birthday. I appreciate your support, darlings, even if I am the worst self-archiving and comment-answering author this side of the sea. Enjoy!

Spring had only just begun, which meant that the recently tilled gardens yielded only an early bounty of the quickest growing vegetables. Fingon insisted on harvesting for their supper, and tired Erestor was not about to object. Glorfindel had constructed magnificent and clever potting benches for their greenhouse, but had left the sanding and oiling of the wood to his partners--citing a need to have enough time to continue work on his paintings. When Erestor returned to the house, wood-dust marred the sheen of his usually glossy hair, and his shoulders ached from using the sanding block. He sat on the couch, hunched over somewhat dejectedly. 

“Something the matter, Ress?” Glorfindel asked, looking over the rims of his spectacles just after dabbing the tiniest dots of black paint onto the disks of the flowers featured on his canvas.

“I am old, Fin. And sometimes I feel it.”

The brush was immediately set down, and Glorfindel rose to come sit next to Erestor. “Then it sounds as though you need the attention more than my artwork. Take off your tunic.” While Erestor obeyed, Glorfindel brought a chair and a pillow, draping the latter over a chair-back. “Sit.”

Erestor’s dark eyebrow cocked at the relative temerity of the commands, but he could also see the mirth in his mate’s eyes. That, coupled with the knowledge that he would benefit greatly from what was to happen, prodded him to decide against any form of sarcasm or protest. 

These episodes of Erestor’s aching back occurred often enough that Glorfindel frequently found himself renewing his supply of walnut oil, which mitigated Erestor’s soreness as much as it helped clean his paintbrushes. Rubbing some between his hands, his strong thumbs pressed into the tender muscles behind the shoulder blades. Quite soon Erestor moaned and whimpered his way through the regimen that both hurt and felt wonderful.

“Now that you are at my mercy, I want to know what is really on your mind.” Glorfindel leaned down and ghosted the tip of his tongue along the edge of Erestor’s ear, and peppered two or three soft kisses along the creamy neck.

“How do you know?” Erestor asked plaintively.

“Ress, I have lived with you for a very long time. You are never old unless something is bothering you. I may lack your particular brand of genius but I have made some observations about my lifelong passion--you.”

“Oh. I thought I was hiding it well.”

“Maybe from everyone else, but not me,” Glorfindel said softly.

Erestor bit his lip. “I hoped I was hiding it from Káno.”

“You are stalling.”

“Maybe. A little. Alright--fine. I am still not very good at this openness thing, but I am trying.” He reached a hand up to grasp at Glorfindel’s forearm, better to lean his head against it. The blond ellon recognized this for what it was; an expression of insecurity, and stopped his massage in favor of his free hand stroking the dark hair. “He is--” Erestor needed to take a deep breath to calm himself, before he tried again. “He is alphabetizing the garden crops.” A distinct tremor ran through Erestor on speaking the words.

“Is there more?” Glorfindel coaxed. Something far more dire had been anticipated.

“More? What more does there need to be, Fin?! This is disastrous. He said he was going to wait for me so we could plan the garden together, but when I got out there after caring for my correspondence this morning, he already had these cute little row markers--so cute that I expect they are of your own invention--already placed. Arugula, asparagus, beans, beets… and he was as happy as an elfling.  I did the work on the wood to try to calm myself, remind myself he is a novice, and he is just helping, but all that time alone with the sanding blocks only made me more upset, and by the time I got back outside, he was up to carrots and dill!”

“Oh. Oh dear. I begin to see the problem. Well, did you try to speak to him about it?” Glorfindel queried.

“How could I? He was almost giddy. The last time there was that much light in his eyes was the day we--you know.”

“Bonded?” Glorfindel hugged Erestor closer to him.

“Yes. That. I asked him if we might negotiate a different arrangement for the rows, and he told me that he had read all of the seed packets carefully, and felt rather set on the present arrangement. Fin, you know what I have always said about seed packet instructions?”

“That they tell lies and are the spawn of balrogs?” Glorfindel answered, unable to stifle a smile.

“Yes. Exactly so. This is doomed. I might as well just start a second plot on my own and make up some nonsense about experimental varieties I am growing for seed.”

“But you did not actually tell him that there is a  _ reason _ not to alphabetize the garden? Does he know that crops can have incompatibilities?”

“I do not know,” Erestor grumped. “I tried to mention that there would be conflict and I think he thought I meant between us, as opposed to the beets and beans. Either way he seemed too intent on sowing seeds to wish to discuss it further.”

“Well...how far apart did you space your rows?” Glorfindel wanted to know.

“Really far. About an ell.” Erestor stretched his arms apart to indicate the width under discussion. “We agreed that we both want the orderliness of wide, mulched pathways rather than battling with overgrown plants at the end of the season that leave no room for Elven feet.”

“You might be fine, then. Some plants only do poorly if they are very close to another that they dislike; there may be just a few issues with which to contend. What concerns me more is that you felt like you could not talk to him, Ress. This is not like you, or Káno.” Glorfindel paused for a moment, to run his fingers through his hair. “Wait. Perhaps it is like you, but you really have been doing much better about sharing your thoughts.”

“I became upset. It was an unexpected surprise and--do I really have to explain further?” Still Erestor clung to Glorfindel’s arm. “I did not throw anything or pitch a tantrum; that felt like progress.”

“You did well, and everything will be fine. I will help you talk to Káno. He can be wound a little tight, at times.” Glorfindel kissed him on the head, and resumed his kneading of sore muscles. The whimpering and moans of contentment returned.

“FUCKING INSECTS!” Fingon fumed as he stormed into the room, checking his progress a few steps after realizing what he was doing. “AND FUCKING MUD!” 

Glorfindel inhaled deeply. “Something the matter, love? Would you like to talk about it? I have waited all day for a kiss.”

_ Damn _ , Erestor sent silently.  _ That is a good tactic. _

_ You hush,  _ Glorfindel dissembled.

Stopping still and blinking, Fingon regarded Glorfindel’s calm, innocent and entirely appealing eyes. His tense shoulders slumped. “I might sit in your lap, if you had a lap to sit in.”

“I have a lap to sit in,” Erestor said quietly, not looking at Fingon.

“So you do,” Fingon answered, seating himself with alacrity. “But he gets the first kiss.”

Erestor found himself summarily sandwiched between his lovers, as Fingon gave Glorfindel a kiss indulgent and sensual enough to elicit a whimper. “That was worth the wait,” Glorfindel whispered, reaching for Fingon’s shoulder as he recovered his equilibrium.

Fingon turned now to Erestor, and kissed him just as soundly, his tongue twining in a manner that left no doubt in Erestor’s mind that he was wanted. And now Fingon placed both hands on Erestor’s shoulder. “I saw you leaving to return to the house. You wore an expression of abject misery. I want to know why.”

Wide-eyed, Erestor began to panic, but Fingon now weighed enough to keep him easily in place. “I...I...please…”

“Ress, nothing bad is going to happen. He loves you. Tell him what you told me,” Glorfindel gently encouraged. 

“Cupcake…” Fingon immediately began caressing Erestor’s cheeks, seeing the tears welling in his eyes. 

“This is really hard for him,” Glorfindel emphasized to Fingon. “He is afraid you will be angry about the garden.”

Fingon shook his head. “I am angry with the earwigs. I am not angry with you. Well, maybe if you tell me I need to dig up everything I just did today,” he joked. “But not otherwise.”

Glorfindel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head vigorously, but it was too late. Erestor unsuccessfully tried to stifle a sob and failed. 

“Oh dear. Oh, not good. Cupcake, I am so sorry. I opened my mouth and stuck my muddy foot into it. Please do not cry. Fin is right--I love you. Anything you need to say to me is not worth being this upset over. Eres, baby...please?” He pulled Erestor close, soothing him, while glancing up at Glorfindel. “Do I have to dig it all up again?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Glorfindel told him with some reluctance. “But we can worry about that in a moment.”

“My darling,” crooned Fingon, “I want you to be happy.  I thought working on this project with you would be a relaxing way to spend time together, but I realized when I was out there all alone that I must have said or done something pretty dumb because I know that both the outdoors and I are two of your favorite things, and while Glorfindel is also one of my favorite things, too… I think you came in here for another reason.  I hate to see you cry, especially when I am the cause of it. Please tell me what I did, cupcake?”

Several hiccups and sniffles followed, in the midst of which Glorfindel procured a kerchief and handed it to Erestor. More sniffles and dabbing of eyes, and then Erestor managed to lift his head. “It was not you. It was me, unable to behave like a normal elf.”

“Ress, honey, just tell Káno the problem. No running yourself down,” Glorfindel insisted.

A deep sigh and a nod later, Erestor tried again. “Not all garden plants get along with each other, which is why going by the alphabet is not a good idea. Some plants are like you and Turgon; there is only something of a rivalry. Other plants are like...are like…”

“Are like you and Faelion,” Glorfindel offered, feeling like it was a more than suitable analogy. 

“Right,” agreed Erestor, liking the comparison. “Basically they will kill each other if they are kept in any kind of proximity. But you were so excited; I did not know how to tell you and I...I am so sorry I am like this.”

Glorfindel sighed, but the exasperation he felt was minimal. How often had he had such similar thoughts about himself? There had been too many to count, so he really could not chide Erestor much.

Fingon was quiet for a moment before he asked in an attempt to make a joke, “Why do we even have Faelion plants?  I thought those were weeds…”

“Faelion plants?” Erestor’s lips parted. 

“No, not like that, Ress,” Glorfindel murmured into his ear. “Think...potatoes. But only if the potatoes are next to the tomatoes.”

“But I  _ like _ potatoes,” whined Erestor.

“This is why I will never be a comedic performer,” recognized Fingon.  He stroked Erestor’s hair and said, “I thought the whole alphabetical Westron-theme would be cute, but I am seeing now that is not going to work.  How bad did I make it out there?”

“Uhm...I did not look at much after “F” because I had to flee when I saw the fennel going in near the dill. I can look tomorrow. If you want me to. I did not want to ruin this for you and--”

“Ah ah ah!” Glorfindel warned, nipping his ear. “He means, it would be better to discuss that part tomorrow. Is that right, sweetheart?”

Guiltily, Erestor nodded.

“I only got as far as ‘horseradish’, so perhaps you would indulge me and we can take a walk and you can mark the ones that can stay and tell me which ones need to relocate.  I think you know me well enough to know that I will not sleep thinking there is a mistake like this to be fixed. You do not have to do a thing except advise,” Fingon warned.  “We can just write this off as practice planting. Unless I hit another nest of earwigs. Then I am done for the day.”

“Beer,” Erestor mumbled, still sniffling and turning watery eyes toward Fingon. “Give them beer.”

“Oh, fuck no, those bastards get none of my beer,” Fingon said with mock defensiveness.  “There was one in my shoe. I think it bit me.” He started to twist his leg around so that he could remove his muddy shoe and display his injury, when his movements caused him to wince and lower his leg.  “Nope. Pass. Shit, getting old sucks,” he grumbled.

“Let me see,” Erestor insisted.

“I have a better idea,” Glorfindel insisted rather adamantly. “Both of you--clothes off and into the pool. You need the warmth and you will feel better if you are clean for supper. I can begin working on it, if you tell me what I can do.”

“Beets,” Erestor grumbled. He would not mention that he had tried to explain to Fingon about beets being multigerm seeds--that subject had also fallen into a crevasse of misunderstanding. So now they were thinning the huge beet row almost daily, and eating baby beets by the bowlful. Why? Because beet seeds were not seeds, they were like botanical squadrons in one tidy package.

“Good,” Glorfindel said firmly, refusing to give Erestor anything about which to complain. “I will roast them and it just so happens that I have day-old bread. We will have a lovely salad out of that and the beet greens. I know where everything is; now, off with both of you. Go snuggle in the water.”

“He is ordering me around,” Erestor huffed.

“Would you rather I was ordering you around?”  Fingon slid off of Erestor’s lap. “You heard the man.  Water. Snuggling. Now.”

Erestor’s lips parted in shock, and he scurried out of the house, trying not to fret about towels or clean clothing.

“I will bring the needed items!” Glorfindel called very clearly from the kitchen. “No delaying.”

Fingon peeked into the kitchen on his way out.  “By ‘needed items’, I do hope you are including yourself in that list.”  He winked on his way out, and jogged to catch up to Erestor, who was walking briskly across the lawn.  “I know you want to never hurt my feelings,” he said as he caught up and slid an arm around Erestor’s waist, “but sometimes, you just have to tell me no, very firmly.  It may take a few tries, but eventually I will learn.”

Stopping and turning, Erestor looked on him with eyes full of love but strained by troubled emotion. “I will try harder. I struggle with conflict. As in, I go out of my way to avoid it. Once I was an imposing negotiator, and now… now I have become afraid of it, in a way. It is easier to just give in and do what I think the other person wishes except--” He bit his lip again.

“Except that does not always work out so well either?”

Nodding his agreement, Erestor suddenly reached to hug Fingon, pulling him close.

These occasions allowed Fingon’s recent growth spurt to seem almost welcome, for Erestor appeared to take greater comfort when held by someone taller. Fingon guided his partner to the pool, and lowered the retractable wooden steps that Glorfindel had created just for this use. Now they could enter and exit the water without nearly so much concern about slipping and injuring themselves. Fingon quickly stripped off his clothing, worried that Erestor stood almost frozen--it was odd, to have to tug loose the drawstrings of his mate’s trousers, but he did this anyway, so all Erestor had to do was step out of them and down into the water. Fingon swiftly drew him near. “Sweetheart, this was only a small thing. That I fucked up in the garden does not change my love for you. I love you more than an entire continent of gardens. I would do anything for your well-being. If working with me is causing you distress, we can make other plans. I mean it.”

With those words, the stiffness in Erestor’s body disappeared, and his form became pliant against Fingon’s. Not just pliant, but utterly passive except for the arms that wrapped around Fingon’s chest and clung like a limpet on a piling. Incognizant, his thoughts were suddenly unrestrained. Love, self-recrimination, shame, and a deep need for the strength and many admirable qualities Erestor felt were absent in himself flooded into Fingon’s mind. Somewhere deeply buried was arousal, too. Not that Erestor’s mind entertained thoughts of sex; quite the opposite. In both fascination and mild trepidation, Fingon felt the erection to which Erestor was oblivious swelling against his groin. Blinking, he bit his lip while his hand reflexively caressed Erestor’s back. Had he known that others experienced arousal in quite this manner, at least sometimes? Purity ran through it, sundered from physical lust. Rather than ordinary desire, he felt the keen spiritual yearning that Erestor directed at him; the wish for a unity of souls above and beyond a coupling of bodies. Swallowing hard, he willed himself to remain in the sanctity of that moment. “Eressë…” he whispered. 

The sound of his name jarred Erestor back to the present moment. Embarrassed, he tried to pull his hips away from Fingon, his cheeks visibly reddening. “I am sorry,” he said contritely.

“No,” Fingon demanded, pulling firmly against his lower back, keeping him in place. “No sorry. Never be sorry for that.”

“But you--” Erestor found his protest stifled with a kiss. 

_ I know you can hear me,  _ Fingon told him, _ and if this is how I have to silence you, I will. You are not the only one learning, the only one struggling with how to be a better partner. A better mate. You have taught me a great deal, and still you teach me. _

_ Teach you what?  _ Erestor’s eyes were wide with confusion. 

_ More reasons why I love you, for starters. And how not to plant gardens.  _

The kisses came more earnestly now, and Erestor lost the will to challenge the assertions. The affection was accepted with gratitude, and no expectation of more--he had schooled himself never to have hopes or assumptions. Neither was he immune to the sensations from his nether regions, for he was locked into Fingon’s hold. A firm hand that had now covered his buttocks rolled his hips for him, grinding him against Fingon’s taut belly. The other hand moved to his chest. Now Erestor realized that in Fingon’s own oddly charming and unpretentious manner, his lover meant to pleasure him. The methodology could not be more different than what Glorfindel would have done to achieve the same end, and therefore was all the sweeter. 

Glorfindel tried to hurry through the beets, having overheard all that transpired outside. But Erestor had been right, there were too many of the accursed orbs to manage. A few mature sized ones were a simple matter, but this was dozens on dozens of them that were about the size of an eyeball and--he was going nowhere just yet, and hoped that the two of them managed to work out their current assignment of snuggling (which was now far beyond snuggling). Still his fingers flew while he waited for the water to boil, discarding damaged leaves and washing everything between his fingers in their colander to dislodge tiny particles of soil. If Fingon found dirt in his dinner Glorfindel would assuredly be fired from the kitchen. Glorfindel grinned at the thought, shook his head, and kept on flicking beet greens into a separate bowl.

Erestor surrendered to Fingon’s attentions, gasping in surprise and enjoyment when his body was turned to one side. At first he felt disappointment when the carnal motion ended, until it was replaced by Fingon backing him gently against the smooth side of the pool. A large hand surrounded his arousal, its twin began rubbing and twisting at his nipples in earnest, and all the while a demanding mouth alternated between nipping at soft lips and thrusting an agile tongue into every corner. Occasionally, Fingon sank teeth into the pale skin of Erestor’s neck, leaving bruising marks. At first his attentions were rough, vigorous--until he heard and felt the favorable response. When he slowed his motions to extend the encounter, a torrent of moans and cries--words of pleading and appreciation--reached his ears. 

“Next time I am frustrating you, remember this,” Fingon asked. “My soul is at one with yours, beautiful. Nothing matters more than you and Fin. You never have to be afraid to talk to me. Never. Underneath whatever else is going on, I love and cherish you and would give my last to see you happy.” Intentional or not, a well-timed stroke of Erestor’s shaft and a firm pull on one of his rosy nipples interfered with the tears welling in his eyes at his mate’s words. Shuddering and writhing in release, Erestor’s hands found a purchase on Fingon’s back and held on through the spasms of his body. 

When those subsided a few moments later, the emotional catharsis followed. Raw and vulnerable, Erestor burst into fresh tears. “L-love you,” he sobbed. “Love you so much it hurts.” 

“Me too, Eres.” Fingon held the precious being in his arms tightly, protectively, rocking him carefully. “I will manage to screw things up, and be idiotic. Not that I want to promise it, but it is something like placing a cake in front of Salgant--we both know that there is only one inevitable outcome.” He smiled when this comparison elicited a sniffle and a little laugh. “I will even manage more garden atrocities, so you must prepare yourself. Here, I want to play a game. Help me find words that rhyme,” he asked.

“What?” Erestor said in a watery voice.

“Beet. What rhymes with beet? Come on, first thing that enters your mind.”

“Uhm, ‘treat.’”

“Dill”

“Thrill”.

“I like those,” Fingon kissed the dark head in encouragement, now massaging Erestor’s shoulders. “My beet is your treat, and dill is a thrill.”

“Oh Valar…” Erestor said, chortling more in spite of himself. “That is awful.”

“I know it is. But it made you laugh, and I want to see you smile. I shall manage worse, too, until I see the radiance restored to your face. Come on now, ‘zucchini.’”

“That--that is a terrible selection. Nothing rhymes with those words from Harad.”

“True,” Fingon admitted. “What about ‘squash’?”

“Posh,” chimed in Glorfindel, who finally was able to join them. He splashed his way into the pool after depositing an array of clean towels and robes in the hammock.

“But I like ‘kabosh’,” wheedled Erestor. 

“Then I will put the kabosh on his posh squash,” Fingon declared with regal authority.

Erestor chuckled and grinned -- really grinned -- and tapped his nose against Fingon’s.  “I love to hear you speak Westron. That lilt you have makes every word, even the ridiculous ones, sound beautiful.”

“Say ‘pickles’,” said Glorfindel, wishing to test this theory.

Fingon rolled the word soundlessly over his tongue before he obliged.  “Pickles.”

“Oh, yesss… you are so right about this, Ress,” agree Glorfindel.  

Fingon looked back at Erestor.  “Do your worst,” he whispered.

“Hmm…”  Erestor considered his vast vocabulary of Westron words.  

“Pick a good one,” advised Glorfindel.

“This is not easy,” Erestor acknowledged. “It has to be just the right one. What about--? No, that will not suit. Or…”

“Oh, come on,” Glorfindel demanded. “You must have ten of them lined up, and are just being over-picky.”

“I will say all ten,” offered Fingon.

“Fine,” Erestor huffed. “Mandarinquat, savoyed cabbage--and stop wrinkling your nose, Fin--crabapple, bergamot, mulberry, jujube, golden plum, nectarine, rutabaga, and parsnip. There. I hope you are content now.”

“Oh, good lord, that was more syllables than I expected,” admitted Fingon.  He took a deep breath and began. "Rutabaga, cabbage, nectarine, golden plum, manisquat? That seems like not a word... um... savoyed and crabapple, and jujube... which ones did I miss?"

“Mandarinquat, half the cabbage, all of the stone fruits, and two hapless root vegetables,” Erestor smiled, feeling pleased with himself. So pleased, that he stole a kiss from Fingon.

Fingon rewarded Erestor’s sharp memory with a kiss for each additional item.  “You know what I like to hear? I like to listen to you speak when you get very impassioned about something and you slip back into your… natural voice,” Fingon settled on.  “You speak so very eloquently and practiced, and I know it was something you worked on very hard for a long time, but I still remember that day so very long ago when Finrod told me I was going to train you in the library, and I grumbled about it, and then you were there, and you were talking, and I remembered how you spoke when I went to my uncle’s house to visit and you were there, and… I am sounding like a juvenile with a crush,” he realized and laughed at himself.  He reached his hands forward to cup Erestor’s face in his hands. “It is so lovely when you speak from your heart without worrying about the most proper enunciation required for a stage performance. When I can just hear… you.”

“No one has ever wanted to hear me that way,” Erestor said softly, recalling the many times he had been run down and criticized for his accent. “Well, maybe Fin, but…” He cleared his throat, humbled. “Thank you, for accepting me as I am.”

“Ress...I have always loved your voice. You taught me to read, brought learning and light into my dark and limited world. There is no ‘maybe,’’ Glorfindel emphasized. Tilting his head, he captured the rosy lips and felt the same rush of emotion as the first time he had ever been openly allowed to express this kind of affection. “You do not see your own beauty.”

Bashful once more, Erestor closed his eyes.  “You two are probably the only two who hear it,” he said, and his voice, always low, was deep and smooth, the words relaxed and gliding together. 

“Yes.  That. Right there,” purred Fingon as he closed his eyes as well.  One hand slid down to grip Erestor’s shoulder. Eyes still closed, he took a deep breath and swallowed hard.  “Well,” he finally said as he opened his eyes and gave Erestor a cheekily apologetic look, “I guess you can tell just what that does to me,” he mumbled, too close to have any way to cover just how Erestor’s voice affected him.  “See, now, you should have talked like that earlier…”

“That is all it takes?” Erestor asked, disbelieving. “I…” He swallowed hard, mustering his courage. “I want you all the time,” he confessed, with elongated vowels and dipthongs, tongue loose, and words flowing as they had millenia ago. “I would drop everything, no matter when, if there was even a chance that you might want to--” His cheeks reddened and he looked away, for it was very hard for him to speak the words. But Fingon had just told him he should never be afraid to talk to him. Right now, he was taking what felt like a great chance, accepting that statement at face value. “I would talk all day until you could not stand the sound of me, if--” Unable to continue, Erestor trembled. Glorfindel literally held his breath, knowing in Erestor’s view how much was being risked. He turned his eyes to Fingon, pleading written into every facet of his expression.

Erestor was not finished. “I am sorry, Káno. I promised myself I would never pressure you and I just went against that. Truth or not, it should not have been spoken. Please forgive me,” he offered, ashamed. His words had been unfair to all of them.

Once more, Fingon’s hands took hold of Erestor’s face, but this time they shook and Fingon, normally so confident and unafraid, had a tremor to his own voice as he spoke.  “Tell… tell me,” he begged. “Tell me… tell me what you want.” Tears welled in his eyes, and his teeth chattered until he clenched his jaw.

Erestor’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out; he had frozen. Glorfindel, however, had no such issues. “He wants you to make love to him, Káno. He wants to feel you possess him, pleasure him; to know that he belongs to you in a way that he will offer to no other but the two of us for as long as he is granted life. He wants to feel joined with you, seeking the other half of his spirit. I hear his thoughts when you do not. He wants this always; he spoke the truth to you. But he does not dare ask, because he loves you far more than he loves himself, and puts your needs above his own; it is one of the few means by which he feels he can demonstrate how much he cherishes you.” Tentatively, Glorfindel placed a hand on Fingon’s shoulder, hoping it conveyed his own love and support. “I hope one day to offer you the same high regard, and at that time I will desire you just as much. I already desire you, but it is not yet our time. I accept that, just as I accept and love everything about you. But Ress...Ress is now your bonded mate, and he yearns for you as one in the desert prays for water.”

Fingon’s breath was shaky as he used his thumbs to stroke Erestor’s cheeks as he listened to Glorfindel.  “Yet, there is still more… that thing I know neither of you would dare speak of.” He licked his lips before he continued.  “I would hear it from your lips. Speak to me, my beloved. Tell me if you wish that of me or no. And… the rest…” He looked away for a moment, then back, unsure, trembling.  “I would know not only if you wished I make love to you, but… I would know if you… if you wished to have me in that same way, and not only for the pleasure it would bring.” Throat dry, he once more licked his lips, and kept his gaze focused upon Erestor.

Tears welled up anew, and Erestor’s entire body shook almost uncontrollably. “I do want it, even as I want you to forgive me for my desires.” The formerly deep and lilting voice was now so strained that the words could only be choked out in short phrases. “The time you offered yourself to me, all those years ago--the time I said no--I have regretted it so often, even as I clung to my refusal as one of the last shreds of decency or integrity I had remaining. I cried then, for want of you. To be at one with you. Nothing ever changed,” he wept. “Everything Fin said is true, I do wish all that from you.” His teeth chattered now, and Glorfindel could stand it no longer. Embracing him from behind, he sent all his love and sense of peace toward Erestor, hoping to somehow help him. 

“He asked you two questions, Ress. Káno deserves an answer. This is hard for him too,” Glorfindel encouraged softly.

Fingon’s hands slid down to Erestor’s shoulders and he held his breath.

Somehow, Erestor found the strength to raise his eyes to Fingon’s. “I want you, but were this world to stretch on for eternity, I would never have spoken of this. Not after what was done to you. I feared it would be insensitive even to mention it in passing. Cruel,” he cried. “You are so precious to me--I--” He shook his head. “But had none of that befallen you? Yes, I desire you, though that act would be a privilege without price, and one of which I feel unworthy.”

“What was done to me was not done by you.”  Fingon collectively addressed both men before him, brushing his fingers across Erestor’s cheek before touching Glorfindel’s.  “What was done to me was not done by a lover,” he recognized. “It would be easy to say, no, I will not go down that path again, too many bad memories are there.  Yet, I lost track so very early on as to how many times I fell from an apparatus or bruised myself in a tumbling pass -- in the early days, I fell more often than I flew.  Oh, but when I flew… I soared.” Tears trickled down his face, though he did not bother to wipe them away. “I will not lie. I am so fucking scared right now. The thought of saying the words I keep practicing in my head is terrifying me.  But I can feel so much love from you both, and I know you would never hurt me. I know it would be love.” He shook so hard, he was now clinging to Erestor for support. His next words were hardly a whisper. “Show me.” To Glorfindel he added, “Guide me.”

“I will never touch you with anything other than the reverence you deserve,” promised Erestor, whose head still swam in his struggle to process everything that had just been said.

“Nor I,” Glorfindel seconded. “Your trust is deeply humbling, and I will do all I can to be worthy of it.” He kissed each of them in turn, feeling blessed to be there. “I must return to our meal. That is, if you feel you can eat? Or is it better to move forward with the encounter? This is a sacred exchange; perhaps it is best to seek our bed.”

At the mention of food, Fingon gave Glorfindel a bewildered look.  The rest of the suggestions seemed sound, and Fingon steadied himself by reaching for the side of the pool and touching the rock.  “My legs are weak, but I think I can manage. I can manage the stairs to the bedroom, that is -- dinner is so far from my mind at the moment, I feel that I completely forgot that eating was even a concept until you mentioned it.”  He sniffled a moment and wiped the drying tears from his chin.

“Then all of it can wait with no harm,” Glorfindel soothed. “There will be no managing, for I will care for you.” A glance to Erestor revealed that for all the strain, Erestor was at the moment in far better shape than Fingon. With a scoop of his strong arms, Glorfindel cradled Fingon against his body and carefully began to carry him from the water, exceedingly grateful for the steps. Fingon was lowered to his feet just long enough to wrap in fluffy towels, while Erestor helped, wrapping one much like a shawl over Fingon’s head and chest. Unconcerned, Glorfindel knew he could dry off well enough once upstairs. He moved quickly into the house and up the steps before Fingon’s weight could become too much of a burden, lovingly seating him at the edge of their bed. Erestor closed the door behind them and moved to light candles, for the daylight now dimmed. Sitting next to Fingon, Glorfindel held him close, rocking him. “Do not be afraid, love. Let us care for you.”

There was a sudden movement from Fingon as he sat up, and while still near Glorfindel, just slightly away from him.  He quickly explained why. “I just… I need a moment to pray. I have to… I just need a moment.” He did not wait for permission as he clasped his hands and bowed his head, and in his little space sometimes his lips moved slightly as he rocked forward and back with excess nerves in play.  Nothing was said aloud, and he seemed almost to concentrate upon keeping his thoughts private until he let out a relieved breath of air. His shoulders relaxed, his hands moved to rest upon his thighs, and he slowly blinked his eyes open. He nodded, but to whom was left a mystery. He then turned his head to rest his cheek upon Glorfindel’s shoulder and confided in him.  “I am well aware of some sort of preparation needing to be made. I think that alarms me more than the rest, because I have been a party to the rest before, but… no one really made an effort to trouble over my comfort in the past, and I was rather lacking in insightful family members to offer sage advice when I was in my youth. I can tell you a hundred ways to court a young lady, but when I asked my father if sex hurt if it was with another man, he left my room flustered and moved on to discussing topics of interest to adults with Turgon and never answered my question, nor spoke to me again on the topic.  I really had no one else to reach out to, and I was too embarrassed to look for books. I do not mean to presume that you are an expert, but in comparison to my knowledge, I had… rather hoped… that you might assist me.”

“Oh sweetheart...I would be deeply honored. While I have only given myself to two lovers in both my lives, I think I qualify as “well used” at this point,” Glorfindel smiled cheerfully. “Oh--there was the mother of my child, but I think for the purposes of this discussion we can ignore those encounters. The answer is, it can hurt on account of carelessness or inexperience, but it does not have to. Erestor would go to very great lengths to keep you from experiencing pain. Even if it means not being able to complete the act of joining for a time, while you grow used to being touched and stretched--and pleasured. I was very careful with Erestor, our first time. He was scared, and I did my best to honor his fears. I hope I managed. Did I manage, Ress? I am not certain I ever asked you this question.”

“I, uhm, I cannot recall having any complaints,” Erestor smiled. “I remembered that you did what you could to ensure my comfort and enjoyment, despite my bad cooking.” Now he sat on Fingon’s other side. “I will not be cooking anything at all for you,” he joked. His eyes sparkled in the low light. “I will be doing one thing only,” he whispered, tracing a fingertip along the edge of Fingon’s ear. “Worshiping your body in a manner about which I would not even allow myself to dream. I love you.” Moving the dark hair behind an ear, he kissed cheek, jaw, and neck very softly. 

Fingon relaxed a little more, but only for a moment.  Soon, he was sitting straight up again. “So, and forgive me if I am asking stupid questions,” apologized Fingon, whose eyes flitted around as he spoke, “but this whole stretching thing, not a new term, but… so when that happens, how long afterwards does it stay that way?  Is it… really loose down there? Do you feel it at all? And what happens with the, uh, the.. you know, the ejaculate, when that goes up in there, does it stay there? Or does it keep going somewhere, or come back out -- which, I suppose makes sense if everything is stretched out, it would just slide out after, right?  I am going to be honest -- I have not been paying much attention to what has been happening right in front of me. Not that part of it.” He was beginning to tense up again, and added, “Oh, and… again, this is probably, stupid to ask, probably you will expect ‘every gay man knows that’, but… I should have read more. I really should have.  So… does it ever get stuck in there? That was my chief concern when you and I,” he said as he motioned between himself and Erestor, “were… on the table… well, no, Glorfindel was on the table, we were… well, anyhow, the head is bigger than the rest, so I have no idea how anything is in there, but is there a concern that it could get hooked on something and lodged in there and then everything just stops until there is a lack of arousal, although, that seems like a fairly unarousing thing, so… I am probably worrying about things I need not worry about.”

Glorfindel blinked, but otherwise did not react to any of the questions, except to feel genuine sorrow and pity that such basic information had gone unanswered. “I will try to take those in order,” he answered, moving behind Fingon and kneeling so as to carefully begin kneading at his neck and shoulders. “The stretching...my understanding is that it is not dissimilar to what ellith experience. The first time, everything is tight. After intercourse, the body will feel a little sore and try to return to how it was in the first place. Maybe for a day or two, everything is a little looser. But with regular intercourse, those places stay stretched. Plus, lovers gain experience with each other’s bodies. Obviously, Eres and I are quite, uh, active. We could love each other with no preparation at all, and there would be nothing worse than a slight discomfort. But it was not like that in the beginning. However, with a period of celibacy, eventually the body works back to how it was before. I would say it takes….weeks? Maybe a month and a half? I suppose it depends on the individual, at least a little. Eres and I have both experienced partings and that was about my experience. Ress?”

“Yes, like that,” he agreed, never having really considered these questions and feeling vaguely fascinated.

“Forgive the interruption,” cut in Fingon, “but with the looseness… does that… oh, how to put this… does it cause any sort of incontinence?  I mean… do things just, well, fall out of there unexpectedly because of it being so loose?”

Glorfindel stifled a smile. “I will confess that it can take a little more awareness to avoid passing wind when that is not wanted but no, we retain control of our bowels. Our anal sphincters, since that is the proper term, are more relaxed but they still are very much present and functioning. Really, it is an impressively powerful muscle, which is why it can be irritated greatly if not given proper courtesy.

“Ejaculate...that actually depends. Again, this is not so dissimilar to what a female experiences. Both the vagina and the colon are capable of absorbing liquids, and of course semen is just that. But the absorption does not occur in a matter of minutes. If Ress spends himself in my body, and I immediately fall asleep, my body will absorb that in the hours of rest. However should I rise and use the privy, it is possible that I might expel some. The body is capable of holding it in, though, unlike what happens with the...vagina.” Here, he hesitated a little. “I am forced to realize it is a rather leaky organ with little ability to keep any fluid from going anywhere.” He sighed, shaking his head a little, but then pressed on. 

“Your last question, whether the penis can become entrapped by any bodily structures. The answer is No. The colon is comprised completely of smooth muscle tissue with involuntary contractile properties; there is nothing whatsoever that can entrap a penis or really anything else. I am sure you can observe just by comparing the three of us that male organs have quite a range of shapes and sizes. I was circumcised and so were you; Erestor was not. We are not created like canids, for example, that have an erectile structure properly called the  _ bulbus glandis _ that enables male and female to be tied together for a time during copulation. No, we utterly lack any such anatomy. However,” Glorfindel continued, waggling his finger in the air while Erestor’s amazement mounted, “there is at least one landmark of significant interest in the male rectum, which would be the prostate gland. For most, the stimulation of this site is a source of nearly indescribable physical pleasure. I think I speak for both of us when I say that we willingly offer our bodies for your manual exploration, should you wish to feel these anatomical landmarks. I promise you we are both cleansed; Eres and I have always shared an extreme regularity regarding our eliminatory habits and are firm believers in sexual hygiene.” Finally, he stopped speaking, only now noticing that Erestor was actively gaping at him with an open mouth.

“What?” Glorfindel asked. “Did I say something inaccurate?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Erestor smiled. “You have just sermonized on the topic as though you are a lecturer in mammalian physiology. Where did you even learn all that?”

“I spent some of those lonely years in Imladris learning what I could from Elrond, and reading his books,” the blond answered mischievously. “I have good recall when the subject matter interests me. In this case, I wanted to understand how all the parts worked but then it sort of took on a life of its own.”

“Apparently,” Erestor quipped, the relaxed legato having returned to his voice. His hands reached up, gently smoothing the skin of Fingon’s forehead, cheeks and collarbones. Mesmerized with the face of his beloved, he could hardly remove his eyes from the dark lashes. His heart filled with so much love--whatever the outcome of this encounter, it would ever be treasured on account of the trust this valiant warrior had placed in his hands. 

Fingon bowed his head to rub at his forehead in an attempt to relax his furrowed brow.  “I need to stop asking questions,” he reasoned with himself. “Both of you are fine, and if you were doing this twice a day, everyday…”  He had his legs crossed at the ankles, feet fidgety. “I trust you both, I am just terribly nervous. Haircut nervous, but times a hundred,” Fingon said.  “When we did that, though,” he continued as he turned his head again to address Glorfindel, “there was excitement, too, and I can feel that surging within me as well.”  He reached out to squeeze Erestor’s hand as he turned his head back. “I think I am ready to do this, I just find myself hesitating because I am not really sure what my next move needs to be.”

“Oh honey, there is no next move,” Glorfindel smiled, continuing to softly caress the smooth back in front of him. “There is only us, giving our utmost to have this be one of the best moments of your life, and you being fully honest with us about what pleases or displeases you, and if you wish it, sharing your experience with us.”

Erestor took Fingon’s hands in his own. “I honor you for this, with my whole heart,” he said to him, looking into his eyes, and placing reverent kisses on the roughened skin. “I will give my utmost to please you.” He laughed softly. “Look at me, almost at a loss for words. Yet you told me that it is my words that you like the most, so I must find some. Ones that are only for you,” he whispered, moisture glistening in his dark eyes.

“I have a million different thoughts in my head.  You can probably hear some of that jumble,” Fingon said to Erestor.  He squeezed Erestor’s hands, and then brought one up to his chest, over his heart.  “Can you feel that?” he asked of the thundering muscle within. “Dancing does not do that.  Gymnastics does not do that. I think the only time I have ever been like this is racing horses.”  He took a deep breath. “As I said, I think I am ready… I just need guidance.” Now he looked back to Glorfindel and pressed his lips together, waiting.

“You already know that arousal begins here.” Glorfindel gently smoothed the side of Fingon’s head. “In the mind. I am only here to help, and support. Ress?”

Erestor nodded, and by some shared thought, both of them carefully lifted Fingon to move him back against the headboard strewn over with pillows, so that he was neither fully sitting up or reclined. Each of the ellyn took a place on either side of him (though Glorfindel appeared to be deftly fussing with unknown objects that were kept out of sight at the moment). Erestor closed his eyes, laid his hand over Fingon’s heart, and brought one of Fingon’s hands to his own chest. When he opened them again, an unusual intensity was visible in their depths. “For such a very long time, you were one of many characters in the cast of my theater. If I could have allowed myself, I would also have admitted that you held mystery for me. Fascination. But ever have I been entangled in webs and nets of my own making. That and, I was not free to consider more. So the first real moment for me was the expression on your face when I woke from my long slumber. It is an image, frozen in my memory. At the time, I could not think of that or anything else. Later, though, I understood the pain, the fear, and the realization of a yearned-for hope that composed the silent poetry in your gaze. Slowly, it filtered through my awareness that I was the cause of this. That all others had forsaken me, but you remained at my side to guard and care for me. Somewhere in that nascent fluorescence of my understanding, I became yours. You won me with your love, and bound me to you with gratitude. And hope.” Leaning forward, he left off the audible cadence that was all his own, to claim Fingon’s mouth. Carefully, chastely, wanting only to communicate the sacredness of their bond.

Fingon stretched his legs out before him and returned the kiss just as sweetly.  “I had a plan. I never told you. If you had not woken up after a few years, I had every intention of building a house nearby so that we would not be far from Elrond, and staying with you there, even until the end of time.  You held my heart long before, and I should not have been so reserved. I wish now that I had spoken up sooner.” Fingon nestled his head against the pillows and cushions. “This is nice,” he said of his current position on the bed.  “Reminds me a little of when I was king.”

“You are still king. If only of my heart,” Erestor said, reaching to rub at his ears here and there, searching for something by which Fingon would show evidence of arousal before they touched him in any way to assist that. 

“Mine too,” protested Glorfindel, his eyes full of mischief. He reached over to nibble on the tempting ear ever so briefly. “My king.”

“Mine,” Erestor nibbled the other side, determined not to be left out.

“Tonight you win, Ress,” Glorfindel smiled. “But in earnest? You returned my life to me, Káno. You were my strength when my own failed. I love you deeply. I have always loved Ress, but I now realize I need that which tempers both of us--you.” Firmly reaching to cup the firm globes of Fingon’s bottom, he both massaged and lifted him so that Erestor could slide a pillow underneath. Both ellyn helped him to lift and bend his legs, and supported them, while continuing to lavish attention all over his soft skin. They had exposed him for their attentions, but still withheld those.

The focused attention on his ears had caused Fingon to moan and relaxed him.  Their words were true and humbled him in their company. It was the repositioning of his body that caused him to freeze, and for trepidation to creep upon him, until he slid his legs back down and struggled to reach for the pillow, only to yank it out.  “I am sorry,” he apologized. “I… guess I need this to be… just, different, and… this is too much like… with him,” he said, not wanting to name his former companion in the company of his lovers. “Maybe just slower. I wish I even knew… I just… I got scared,” he admitted, and moved an arm to drape over his eyes, his other hand dug into the fabric of the sheet. 

Immediately Glorfindel pulled Fingon to rest on his body, holding and soothing him as had once been done when he was the one struggling. 

“My beautiful love,” Erestor said, easing down alongside Glorfindel and Fingon. “Do not be sorry. I can see glimpses in your mind of what causes you distress. Would it please you to explore me instead? I hunger for your touch and perhaps could imitate what you do to me? Or Fin? Or we could just be here and snuggle with you, beautiful king.” Several kisses were placed on his shoulder, and traced down his arm. Erestor delightedly nibbled on fingers next, seemingly uncaring what his lips found as long as the body part belonged to FiIngon.

Fingon nuzzled between them, and revealed, “My anxiety is through the roof right now.  I think the flight instinct is trying to kick in. What you were doing was very nice to start.  If you can… warn me? That sounds harsh. If you can explain to me what you are doing before you do something, I think that would help.  It just seemed sudden. I may need a different position eventually, too, because as soon as I got to thinking about-- well, my thoughts ran one into another and it brought up memories, whether I wanted them or not.”

“Fair enough,” Glorfindel reflected. “What we hoped to accomplish is, we wish you to relax, and feel aroused on your own. At least somewhat. The preparation, the touching you on your intimate areas, can feel strange and distracting the first time. If you can be stimulated in other erogenous areas when this begins, it tends to help, and allow for you focusing on the great pleasure that the preparation can bring. You should not be ever breached by a mate. No, you should be enjoying the preparation so much that you almost beg to be taken, to feel your partner inside of you. To do otherwise is unthinkable. Would you like to watch Eres and I love each other, helping prepare us while we verbalize all that is happening? I would do anything to help remove the fear I know you must be feeling.” His hands ghosted up and down Fingon’s back, playing over the well-defined muscles.

“To be perfectly honest?  Not really,” said Fingon apologetically.  “I have been around… a lot… when the two of you are making love.  I think I am just a lot different, and high maintenance or something.  I would like to try to start over, but… when you get to the… stretching part, I think I need to be on my side or hands and knees or something, at least this time.  Who knows; that might not even work, either,” he grumbled. “You both have a lot of patience to put up with me.”

“No, love. It is you that have shown us patience,” Erestor insisted, raising him to be in his arms. “Without you, I am nothing. Before you, I had nothing left. With you, I feel as though all my chances and hopes have been returned to life when I was certain they had left me forever. You are my anchor in a stormy sea, the shelter of my spirit from brutal winds, the hearth that warms me when I am cold. I wish you could understand, how very much I mean that I would do anything for you, only because you needed it.” Between every phrase, roaming hands, and more caresses to Fingon’s ears followed. Erestor was lost in his own earnestness.

Fingon began to relax again, and he nudged his way back to the spot he had previously inhabited.  “It was really nice right here,” he said. “I only panicked when I felt so exposed. And helpless.  When my knees were bent and my legs were spread…” Again, he was digging his fingers into the fabric tightly, and he shook his head.  “I just need to ease into it a little.”

“Maybe it is you who should direct us?” Glorfindel suggested. “Arrange yourself as you feel comfortable, and tell us when to touch you? You would have total control. We would move on your command, stop immediately on your command. You would not have to instruct us on the hows, only the when and in what manners? Oh dear, that might have come out as word soup of sorts,” he smiled. “Forgive my lack of eloquence.”

Fingon bit his lip and ultimately shook his head.  “If I am completely in control, we will only get as far as having you pay attention to my ears,” he attempted to joke.  He groaned and rubbed one hand over his face. “I feel like one of those contracts where the terms and agreements part is longer than the contract itself.”  Fingon took a few deep breaths. “I welcome your touches… I just…” He groaned again. “Why is this so hard for me?” he wondered aloud.

Glorfindel now hovered nearby, caressing his cheek with sorrow and sympathy etched in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you were abused. Cruelly. I do not know how it could not be hard for you.”

For a few minutes, Fingon kept his eyes covered with the hand that rubbed at his temples.  Then, he suddenly moved the hand away. He drew one knee up on his own, but left the other leg straight.  “I can do... this,” he said. “Does that help at all? Or not?” He drew his hand over his hair. “This just feels like I am relaxing,” he offered.  “The other thing… I can tell you later. I do not want to ruin this night.”

“You could not ruin anything, my love,” Erestor tried to reassure him. “For just to be near you is my greatest privilege.” 

Fingon’s body was turned slightly toward Glorfindel, who commanded his attention visually. “Erestor should be the one to touch you tonight,” the blond told him, placing soft kisses on his brow and lips in among the words. “I am here for you to ask anything, tell anything, or love you in any manner you might want from me. I will kiss you.” He ghosted his mouth across Fingon’s, running the barest tip of his tongue across a temptingly moist lip. “I will peak your desire for your lover.” Pads of his fingertips skimmed the edges of sensitive ears. “And if you will allow it, I will add to your pleasure when you are already lost in the throes of his attentions.” With great skill Glorfindel coaxed Fingon’s tongue into his mouth, whereupon he left no doubt as to his meaning once he was luxuriously suckling on the fleshy organ. 

Erestor coated his fingers in warm oil tinged with lavender and explained. “I am going to touch you now, after placing oil on your body. You will feel me massage your lower back, buttocks and behind your testicles. Also you will feel my fingers at your entrance. I promise you I will not penetrate your body even with a fingertip until I have your consent, but you will feel me pressing softly against the opening. This is meant to relax that muscle and bring pleasure as well. Say the word and I will stop at once, beloved.” Pausing for long enough that Fingon could change his mind, he made good on his words when no objection was noted. The scent of the oil soothed him as well. Closing his eyes, Erestor allowed his dexterous fingers to fulfill their task. In his mind this was a sacred act; he focused fully on the blessing of their binding. Silently the dark ellon prayed, asking only to be able to convey love and devotion.

Taking several deep lavender-scented breaths helped to further relax Fingon as he continued to kiss Glorfindel.  He kept his eyes closed and returned Glorfindel’s kisses, one hand behind Glorfindel’s neck to keep him near. His other hand he used to reach out for Erestor, sometimes catching his arm or shoulder, giving them light caresses before they were out of his range, and then his arm rested over his thigh until Erestor was close enough again.  Sometimes he drew his own fingers over his leg, or moved his hand to lazily dance his fingertips over his chest, but only until he felt Erestor shift. 

His bent leg had migrated slightly, from his knee being pointed to the ceiling, to being angled slightly.  As Erestor touched him, Fingon’s foot dug into the mattress on its own accord, and every time Erestor’s fingers deftly fondled the soft skin behind his testicles, Fingon’s other leg would stretch out and he would give a little grunt or moan of pleasure.  It took many more kisses and caresses, but eventually Fingon’s eyes fluttered open and he lifted the leg that had been stretched out and hooked it over Erestor’s shoulder, rubbing his heel against Erestor’s skin. “Keep talking to me, cupcake,” he coaxed.  Erestor’s last exchange had started a stirring in Fingon’s groin, but he was once more limp despite the gentle touches of his lovers.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” asked Erestor, despite hearing and seeing the obvious evidence.  When Fingon closed his eyes and nodded his head, Erestor leaned in and strained to reach those moist, slightly parted lips.  They kissed as Glorfindel continued to pay special attention to Fingon’s ears and neck, ghosting fingers upon them. “When you are ready to experiment with penetration, you can let me know.  I am going to use more oil on your scrotum, as you seem to respond favorably to that. If you have reservations about anything, do not be afraid to tell me. Know that I love you and I am cherishing every moment of this experience with you.”

Fingon nodded and rested back against the pillows.  Glorfindel had the oil ready and poured a small amount into Erestor’s palm.  The light massage and manipulation of Fingon’s body began to bring him back into a semi-erect state.  His breathing was still deep, but it came faster now, and he reached out to touch Erestor. Erestor stopped and looked down, and Fingon, after holding his gaze for a moment, nodded his silent consent to move forward.

“I am going to use a different oil to prepare you,” explained Erestor softly.  “This is the base used for the other oil, so it will feel very similar. Essential oils, such as the lavender, need to be used in moderation and mixed with a base.  This is almond oil. I would not want something to irritate your passage, and while lavender is typically not going to do that, I prefer not to take a chance. I am going to go very slowly.  This is not the sort of task to rush with in, ah…”

“With a virgin?” spoke up Fingon, sounding embarrassed.  

Glorfindel kissed Fingon’s brow.  “At the beginner level. Everyone starts somewhere.  This is like gymnastics training.”

“Line on the floor instead of the balance beam.  Got it.” Fingon closed his eyes and continued to breathe and relax his body, but he did reach for Glorfindel’s hand and held it tightly as Erestor dribbled oil at the base of his budding erection, and poured more so that it slid down to Fingon’s puckered entrance.  He almost managed to remind Erestor that these were not the sheets they usually had on the bed when sexual encounters occurred, but then it happened. Something soft yet firm penetrated him ever so slightly. He was aware of Erestor’s voice, and it was close, but seemed distant.

“You will feel some pressure, but it should not be discomfort.  If it hurts at all, let me know.”

Fingon felt himself nodding.  He could still feel Glorfindel’s hand in his own, and then realized that Glorfindel’s other hand was stroking his face and smoothing his hair back. 

“Fingon?  Breathe.”

It was hard to say who the command came from, but Fingon complied.  As he took air in, he could feel the breach with more intensity. His muscles clenched unexpectedly -- or perhaps they always did that and he only just noticed.  At first he thought with panic that whatever was just barely within him would be pulled too deep too fast, but experimented with another breath and found that Erestor’s hand was steady, and the single finger extended only a small amount.

“Kano?  Are you still with me, sweetheart?”

“Mmmhmm.”  

“Everything still good for you?”  Erestor withdrew. One hand slid beneath Fingon to cup his rear, and the other fondled his scrotum again.  Glorfindel brushed the pad of his thumb over Fingon’s earlobe and earned a gasp from his companion. “If we need to take a break, let me know,” drawled Erestor in his rich, deep voice.

“No… you can keep going,” tumbled from Fingon’s lips.

True to his word, Erestor continued his exploration as slow and easy as he had promised.  “I want this to be special for you. I want you to always think back fondly on this night -- even if we do not complete the act, I want everything we do tonight to be memorable in the best possible way.  I love you so much, darling.” As Erestor spoke, he used one hand to massage Fingon externally, and the other to continue his embedded exploration, slow and steady. Little by little, he worked in further, and when he was nearly at his mark, gave Glorfindel a glance and a nod.

The blond nestled close and turned Fingon’s head to the side.  As they kissed, one tongue dominant and the other either lazy or tentative, a sudden burst of satisfaction and sensual pleasure hit Fingon unexpectedly in his core and seemed to shoot through every nerve in his body, expelling in a combined jerk of muscles and outcry, muffled within Glorfindel’s mouth.

Erestor eased his finger out and sat back on his haunches as Glorfindel parted enough to allow Fingon a chance to express himself.  Fingon’s eyes were open now, and he was panting, and reached out to grab for Glorfindel, managing to get his fingers around Glorfindel’s wrist.  “Fuck me…” groaned Fingon. “What was that?”

While only slightly tempted to make a cheeky comment to Fingon’s first verbalization, Erestor replied calmly, “That is your prostate.”  

“Damn.”

“I feel your reaction is conveying a positive experience?”

“Right now if you told me I had to stand on my head for the remainder of this, I would just to experience that again.”

“Just wait until he strokes it,” whispered Glorfindel against Fingon’s ear.

Fingon groaned and shivered at the mere thought.

“How is the rest of it feeling?” asked Erestor.

“Really strange.  Pressure, odd feeling, no pain -- can we just get back to that other thing?” prodded Fingon.

“And so begins the begging, just as I had predicted,” Glorfindel gently teased, still speaking quietly against Fingon’s ear.  

Fingon shuddered again as he looked up at Erestor.  “When you are actually in there… not just your hand… does it still feel like that?”

“Over… and over… and over…” Erestor kissed the skin along Fingon’s thigh as he spoke, his hair brushing against Fingon, including Fingon’s now evident arousal.  “Only better, because you know it to be me, buried within you, our bodies joined as one, and not merely my hand.” Once again, Fingon groaned in response.   
  


“I think he is just as sweet as you were the first time we were together, Ress,” said Glorfindel as he took hold of Fingon’s hand and brought it to his lips to kiss each individual finger.

“Moreso.”  Erestor reached for the oil and poured a bit into one palm so that he could slick his fingers with it.  “He is so refreshingly honest about all of it.” Erestor looked down at Fingon. “Shall I continue, my love?”

At first, Fingon stretched both legs out, toes pointing at the wall.  One leg was repositioned slowly, knee bent, but then the other mirrored the first.  He squeezed with the hand that Glorfindel held. “Do you still have that pillow?”

Immediately, it was back in Fingon’s sight, and he pressed up off the bed with his feet so that Glorfindel could slide the cushion where it had been initially placed.  “I trust you, Erestor. I want you to make love to me. Make my body sing like no one has before.”

Glorfindel could hardly stifle his romanticism as he watched the two of them. This was...in some ways he was perhaps enjoying this as much--maybe more--than his own first experiences. This was love and nostalgia, devotion and memory all intersecting in a way he never would have imagined. Giddily, he smiled and continued to nuzzled Fingon, soon occupying him once more as the recipient--and giver-- of needful kisses. There was no need to watch Erestor’s progress. Not when the first cavernous groan of sheer pleasure hummed against his lips. “How can--how can anything possibly feel like that?” he whispered helplessly to the blond. “I mean, I am not saying I will join the twice-a-day club, but at least now I understand why there  _ is _ a twice-a day club.”

“Or an all-day club,” winked Glorfindel.

“Hnnnnhhhh,” was the extent of the answer.

“Now he will begin to prepare you in earnest,” his mentor explained. “Alternating between the stroking that gives such pleasure, and inserting more fingers to massage and approximate what is to come. However good this feels to you, it is only a shadow of what his body will do to yours when at last you join. Our first time, he directed me. You can tell him things like ‘more,’ for, ‘I want more fingers and more stimulation.’ ‘Faster’ and ‘harder’ need no explanation. Neither does ‘take me now.’ Softly he kissed and nibbled on the sweet lip, and suckled gently on each ear--ever so briefly--because it was there.

“And is there a command for ‘do what you think best, for I am beyond the ability to think because of the previously unknown surges of pleasure my partners have manifested within me’?” rushed Fingon before the next euphoric eruption came from within, causing him to arch slightly, dig his fingers into Glorfindel’s bicep, and let out a long drawn-out sound of delight, the likes of which had not been heard from him before.  “I think I have gone from shy uncertainty to immense impatience regarding this matter, and I hardly trust myself to make the best judgement at present,” he said, panting, and it would be about the last proper and fully coherent sentence he would speak for some time.

“Mmmm,” Erestor  smiled. “I am only thrilled to be pleasing you, dearest. And now I feel like your permission is in full earnest. Fin, where was I?”

A beautiful smile came out of nowhere on Glorfindel’s face. 

“Oh, of course. Silly me. Yes. Well.” Briefly, he examined their little collection of oils and lubricants, finding the one that had a very carefully blended combination of sunflower and peppermint oil. This was their lightest combination, one for when they meant to draw out each other’s pleasure and wanted only a mild--but titillating--enhancement. Coating his fingers with this, he resumed his deft pleasuring of an extremely happy recipient who had apparently lost the will to speak more than in isolated parts of speech. What might the sentence diagram for “Fuck Yes!” be, Erestor wondered. 

Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Really?”’ 

A besotted smile and a shrug was the only response.

Fingon found himself digging his heels against the mattress more and more, and it was hard to distinguish what were the noises from him and what were other things, like the strain of the bedframe as he contorted when a particularly strong onslaught of internal excitement hit him.  “What if I… ughhh… might come… too soon…?”

“The question means you are ready.” Erestor kissed him softly, stopping his ministrations. Leaning forward, he covered Fingon’s body, in order to kiss him tenderly while he spoke. “I will not lie to you. It is possible that you will feel some discomfort, a little sting, when we join bodies. Once any of me is inside you, there will be no additional sense of anything bothersome. If you need me to stop, I will. I will also hold still once fully inside of you, to give you some time to adjust. You are the one who will tell me when I can bring you to unimaginable bliss in our sacred union.” He held Fingon’s gaze all the time he spoke, and indulged in several kisses. Glorfindel had moved to oil Erestor’s penis and place it precisely, so that before Fingon had too much time to reflect Erestor was pushing gently forward. “Push against me,” Erestor encouraged.

“I know it sounds strange, but he means, as if you were emptying your bowels. Doing this further relaxes your entrance,” Glorfindel whispered.

With everything happening so quickly, and nothing feeling particularly terrible, Fingon listened to and complied with all advisements.  He did as Glorfindel told him, not without the concern that he would indeed just do as nature intended and create a disgusting mess and much embarrassment.  Instead, he could feel greater pressure within him, and after a moment, realized it was Erestor, filling him, fully claiming him, and he breathed in sharply as the reality of this hit him.  That sharp intake caused a muscle reflex, and without intending, he swiftly pulled Erestor in further. These two closely placed sensations made him gasp and reach out to grasp Glorfindel’s hand, not in pain, but surprise and a return to uncertainty.  “How should… what do I… please?” Words were suddenly difficult, meanings forgotten, and he yearned for guidance and explanation and perhaps just a little more experience so that he did not feel so stupid at the moment. He opened his mind, unguarded, with the hope that Erestor could catch some of his thoughts and give him much needed assurance and enlightenment.

“Oh honey…” Erestor was raised up on his arms, now fully penetrating his partner. It was not merely the sensation; with full respect to Glorfindel, he had been in this position countless tens of thousands of times. No, it was the blessing of the moment. This moment that he had purged himself of any hope of ever experiencing, for all time. “Just tell me you love me. Kiss me. If the mood strikes you, you can move against me. There is no right or wrong. But I know what I am going to do. I am going to worship your body and spirit, and love you as you have always deserved.”

Everything moved slowly around him.  Fingon released hold of Glorfindel’s hand.  His fingers shook, but he found stability as he took hold of Erestor’s hips.  “I adore you. I will always love you.” Fingon strained to kiss Erestor. The shift he attempted caused a different yet still pleasurable feeling to jolt through him.  He groaned and dropped back down against the pillows, unsuccessful in his attempt to reach Erestor’s lips. “Love you… I love you,” he managed in an attempt to make up for his inability to kiss Erestor.

“Oh! I am sorry,” Erestor said, immediately lowering himself to his elbows, while gently rolling his hips for the first time and claiming Fingon’s mouth with many little kisses. One gentle roll followed another and another, as Erestor did his utmost to massage Fingon’s prostate with every measured thrust. Perhaps it was a choice made in error, but he believed--held out hope. Rather than prolong this encounter as though it would be the only one, he had faith this would be some kind of turning point. That henceforth, Fingon would participate with them more eagerly. The decision was made to heap nearly unbearable pleasure on the body beneath him, and drive him on to a climax he could never forget.

“Oh… oh!  Eres!” Fingon dug his fingers into Erestor’s hips while the sensations elevated him to heights of pleasure he had never before dreamed to feel.  The intensity caused him to open his mouth, but no sounds issued forth. With what strength he had, Fingon pulled Erestor closer. He gasped and struggled to sloppily kiss his lover, and while there was a moment of guilt when he felt he had abandoned Glorfindel, he recalled fleetingly the words offered to him by the beautiful blond, and channeled all of his thoughts and feelings to what he was experiencing with Erestor.  

Tears streamed unbidden from his eyes as their passion increased.  Fingon used his new knowledge to clench his muscles around the now welcome intrusion from his partner, his lover, his mate, he realized as he felt the flutter of near-completion in his stomach and the build of his imminent release.  Words spilled forth that he never thought he would hear from his own lips: “Do it. Finish it. Fuck me, Eres… yes, please, yes, yes! Fuck me hard!”

Erestor had done well, but this request caused a loss of all self-control. A primal impulse took over, and he made love to Fingon with abandon. Thrusting deeply in, pulling nearly out, so quickly. Tears sprang to his eyes as he felt the loss of grounding that always preceded his most intense climaxes. So hard, so hard he pushed, as if somehow he could sink into the very flesh of his lover. In the next moment he felt Glorfindel’s hand on his back and some force of habit reflexively moved his hand to Fingon’s arousal. Glorfindel had abandoned his original thought to orally pleasure Fingon, seeing that he would interfere in their experience by doing so. The dexterous fingers curled around the impressive erection, stroking it in time to their sexual tempo. Badly, Erestor wanted to hold off. To feel Fingon first, exploding and shouting his name. Breath came in gasps, so aroused and consumed was he in this moment.

As soon as Fingon felt the manipulation of his erection, he was lost, over the edge.  Soaring. He rode it out, relying on an attempt to slow his breathing to prolong his enjoyment, but this was short-lived, for the sensations came from everywhere, not just where he expected.  It felt almost cliche, but he uttered Erestor’s name as his mantra, spilling forth as he cried out, “Eressë! Yes!” over and over, and bucked his body before he realized he was doing it, trying to draw Erestor in even deeper than he could possibly go.  Whether it was a whine or a whimper, something escaped him as the delirium began to subside, leaving only warmth, fatigue, and complete contentment behind.

Erestor came so hard. Harder than he knew what to do with, an all-encompassing physical and mental release. The entire moment lived inside of a dream, one from which he never wished to wake. When the last spasm left his body, he found that he wept softly. He could not think, could not speak. Really he could barely move; he was collapsed on the body of his lover, dreading the moment his erection would fade and they would separate. There was only one surety: His life would never be the same.

Glorfindel laid a hand on each of them, and closed his eyes. Though he rarely prayed, he did now. With new recognition, he saw each of them as they truly were. Creatures of flesh, creatures of spirit, all children of Eru designed to experience His greatest blessings.

Now as awareness was regained, Fingon managed to take hold of Erestor’s hand.  “I should have done this the last time we joined, but it was very overwhelming.  I… admit this was, too, but this time, I will not forget this sacred step. I only regret I have no ring for you.”  He brought Erestor’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “May Eru bless this bond between us, and let it never be put asunder.  May it last for all time, and be a compliment to the marital bliss you already have with Glorfindel,” he acknowledged. He kissed the finger upon which he would have placed a ring and held Erestor’s hand to his chest.  “This, I ask, in Eru’s name.” He swallowed hard and squeezed Erestor’s hand. “I am with you, forever, Eressë.”

“And I am with you, Findekáno,” Erestor managed to sob.  “I am forever with you. May Eru bless us, and by His will, keep us happy and healthy and whole.  Namar.” He finished the prayer by pulling Fingon’s hand to his lips to nuzzle and kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I hope you will not ask me to wait,” Glorfindel whispered shyly but tearfully. “Please, I would pledge myself to you now. Ress, Káno; I am forever with you both, separately and together and equally. I will have no one else, forsaking all others henceforth in order to walk only alongside you. May Eru witness and bless my promise, and place a seal upon my heart.” His usually strong voice trembled with emotion as he spoke. He reached for both their hands, and held them against his chest while tears rained down on them. Eventually, he calmed himself enough to speak further. “Give me just a moment.” Rising, he went to the drawer containing his clothing and drew forth a small pouch. “I should have asked, should have discussed this with both of you. My heart moved me to do this; I imagined it one day, and the idea would not leave my mind. The pattern is called an Endless Knot.” Into his hand he poured three rings, holding them out on his open palm. “The blue gold is for Káno, the white gold for Ress, and the yellow gold for me. I…” He sucked air in through his nose, nervously. “I found our original rings of marriage; for Erestor and I. Tradition, of course, says to melt them down and cast them away.  I could not discard them. They were melted down to make all three, because what we have now could not have come without what happened before. I hope I did not just make the biggest blunder ever.” His concern was no deception; his hand trembled visibly.

“These are amazingly beautiful,” said Fingon in awe.  He began to reach for them, then withdrew his hand. “Fëanor had no hand in these, did he?” he asked cautiously.

“No,” Glorfindel answered, a little confused. “I did this some time ago with Mirdirin. You know, that also sells his craftwork at the market here on the island.”

“Mirdirin of Gondolin?” questioned Erestor.

“The same.  One of the few to survive Gondolin and make it across the sea, here, to Tol Eressea.  He and his family never left; they have been here since the Second Age.”

Erestor placed a hand on Fingon’s arm.  “Mirdirin was of Glorfindel’s house; his second-in-command.  He was a good friend of mine as well. We would set up our stalls next to one another at the market, on whatever days we happened to be there at the same time.  It is good to have a friend at the market when you are a solo vendor, or it makes for a long day without a chance to take a much needed break.”

“Mirdirin and I have continued that… family tradition,” Glorfindel said with a smile.  “We almost always set up beside one another. Fear not, Fingon, Mirdirin has no connection to Fëanor.  When he was in Gondolin, he sold crafts of others. Now, he dabbles in a variety of things, but his love over the years has become metalwork, and his is an amazing silversmith and goldsmith.”

“Sorry.  Force of habit,” apologized Fingon.  “I see jewelry this fine, I just assume.  That is a credit to Mirdirin’s skill, I suppose.  May I?” he asked, his hand hovering over the one intended for Erestor.  His words held deeper meaning as he caught Glorfindel’s gaze.

“Please,” Glorfindel agreed, understanding. He selected the ring which would be Fingon’s, offering the remaining one up to Erestor.

Erestor took hold of the gold ring reverently and examined it.  Inscribed within were all three of their names, and he was once again moved,  With the ring in his fist, he wiped away the tears with his knuckles. “It is a little overwhelming to consider, but Mirdirin survived.  He may well have survived because of you. These rings… they are not just rings of marriage. They are symbolic of your sacrifice.” Since he had dislodged from Fingon some minutes earlier, he eased himself to the side, staying very close, yet giving Fingon some relief from the weight that had been upon him.  

Glorfindel chewed at his lip.  “You like them, then?” he asked, still uncertain.

“These are exceptional,” Fingon remarked as he, too, saw what was written on the smooth interior, and smiled.  Then he reached out for Erestor’s hand and kissed the finger once more. “Accept from us this ring, and know you are kept with sincerest devotion in our hearts, husband.”  Fingon’s chin trembled slightly, but he managed to make it through his speech and to slide the ring onto Erestor’s hand.

“I have loved you through both my lifetimes, and you forgave and blessed me despite my failures. My love for you blazes brightly, Erestor. I place my heart in your keeping, and treasure yours.” Glorfindel leaned down low, to kiss Erestor’s ring in a gesture of fealty.

Humbled by this simple act, Erestor placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s cheek and kissed him deeply.  To Fingon he moved next, and no less was his desire. He had not forgotten about the ring held in his opposite hand, and he now moved back to Glorfindel and took hold of his hand.  “I agree with Káno. These are beautiful.” He rubbed the finger which had previously been the bearer of not only the ring Erestor had once placed on Glorfindel, but for a brief time, the one given to him by Faelion, and in Gondolin, a deceptive band of sorts, from Tauniel.  “By your side,” he whispered. “I may not have been the best man in the past, but I am trying. I love you very deeply, and everything you have done for me in my life is beyond measure. I lived because you died, and that has been a very powerful reminder of your love for me.”  He slid the ring upon Glorfindel’s finger before he returned the gesture made by Glorfindel.

Fingon placed his hand over Glorfindel’s, and his other beneath Erestor’s, sandwiching them all together.  “This is a blessed union,” he declared. “I am in awe to be in Eru’s good favor to find myself part of this.  Glorfindel, I know we are constantly feeling as if we are catching up to everything else, but this will all come in time, and we have all the time in the world.  Perhaps I might say now that I have loved Erestor longer, but I love you no less. I am honored to call you husband as well.”

“Your words speak for me more eloquently than my own,” Glorfindel told him, sliding the ring onto Fingon’s hand. “Your nobility and inner strength--I stand in awe of those and most everything about you. I surrender my body and spirit to you, husband, in the hopes that I may add joy and happiness to all the days granted us together.” He bent low again to kiss Fingon’s fingers, then offered his own hands with palms facing upward, in a gesture of supplication and submission.

“Glorfindel’s sentiments echo my own,” stated Erestor as he, too, kissed Fingon’s hand.  “This night has been more than I ever could have dreamed. You have both…” He paused, voice quivering.  “I love you, both of you, so very much. I think back to what was revealed to me just before I left these lands and went to Middle-earth, that I was not destined for anyone, and that I should walk alone for all my days.  Here I am now, twice blessed.”

Glorfindel shook his head, vehemently. “You were never going to be alone. Not with me in eternal pursuit of the one desire I could never attain--you. Eru could not be so cruel, to fill me with such love for you and leave that forever out of reach. But we both broke and came back together, so many times. We each had weaknesses until he saw fit to repair that damage with--have you seen it, Ress? The means the Vanyar have, for repairing ceramic? They use a powerful adhesive, the formula for which no one will reveal, for it is a jealously guarded artistry. But the adhesive is saturated with purest gold, and all of it runs in liquid form. Whatever is restored is not only made more beautiful, but the repaired portions become the strongest parts of the piece. I wish I could name the technique; the word escapes me just now. But that is what Káno is to us. The tempering of our hurts, the one who makes our frailties into strengths. And I thank Eru every day, to have been chosen by him. And by you.”

“I can also walk on my hands, perform a triple backflip off a moving horse, and make a five course meal for eight in under an hour, including dessert.”  Fingon ticked these items off on his fingers as he listed them. “I think it is more like a sword. It needs the right combination of metals. I am very not versed in metallurgy, but I know there are times when two types of metal together will cause a sword to shatter, but add a third, and it becomes stronger than most.  Also, you cannot have a two-legged stool. Alright, I am done with being philosophical… I apologize at being so needy, but I beg assistance in cleaning up and then I require cuddling. I get the middle tonight,” he declared.

“It just so happens that Glorfindel’s Sexual Catering for New Husbands is open for business,” the blond joked. “You will find that it is a full service establishment.” Sure enough, somehow, he produced a cleaning cloth lightly moistened with citrus-scented water, and began to clean Fingon. First his penis, very gently, and then all his intimate areas. A second, fresh cloth was produced to refresh the rest of the skin on his face, neck, and chest. After this was completed, Erestor smiled and snatched up cloth number two, scrubbing the necessary areas with quite a lot less finesse. Glorfindel quickly rescued the used items before Erestor could manage to fling them to some corner of the room, ensuring that they at least made it to the vicinity of the laundry basket. Guessing that it might cause Fingon to feel more cocooned, Glorfindel now shook out what qualified as either a heavy sheet or an extremely light blanket, casting it deftly over the three of them. Propping himself on his elbow and pressed quite close against the length of Fingon’s body, he batted his eyes. “How would you rate my efficiency? The management is eager to hear your comments.”

“I am highly impressed by your skills,” commended Fingon, who, in fact, was impressed.  “I was completely unaware that we had such a fine business running out of this household.”  He was unable to state this with a completely straight face, and kept going. “I would, in fact, recommend it to all of my friends, but I feel their wives would object, and I also do not want them in my bedroom, which seems to be the facility from which your establishment operates.  Alas, I believe you shall have few customers, and therefore shall do my best to provide you with opportunities to showcase your skills.”

Erestor shook with restrained laughter, knowing that he and Glorfindel would never even consider being so dainty. And yet he guessed fastidious Fingon would see this as quite the necessity, at least until he grew more accustomed to such exchanges. Who knew what the future might bring? At the moment, he stared at his finger, then closed his eyes. That this moment could come out of the despair he felt the day the original ring of his marriage to Glorfindel was removed was something out of an elaborate fantasy. So many times in his life, what few hopes and dreams he had entertained ended up shattered--ruined. Sometimes by forces beyond his control, and sometimes by his own poor choices.

“I learned a lot tonight,” remarked Fingon following a yawn.  “I know there will be more discussion in the morning, but I want to thank you both for not giving up on me,” he said quietly before snuggling against Erestor and coaxing Glorfindel to come closer to them.

“I would never give up on you,” Glorfindel murmured. “For you never gave up on me.” Settling down, he wrapped an arm over Fingon’s chest, also reaching toward Erestor. It would be easy, to give free rein to the familiar self-recriminations; the ones that involved him being unable to say the same. The ones that involved him abandoning Erestor for another man.  _ No,  _ he told himself.  _ No more of that. Today you crossed a bridge to another place, and you must leave those burdens behind.  _ Sighing deeply, his hand closed gently around Erestor’s wrist.

  
_ Me too, Fin. I love you.  _ Erestor’s hand covered his. For perhaps the first time since his return here, Glorfindel truly forgave himself, and felt Erestor’s hand squeeze a little harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title a modified quote from Alfred Tennyson.


	2. Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.

The next morning, Fingon rose early, which was very usual for him.  He wiggled his way out of bed, took the dog out, used the oft forgotten outhouse, and slid into the warmth of the spring just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon.  Here he stayed for a little while, spending time on contemplation and self-reflection as he occasionally held his hand aloft and smiled at the band that adorned it. 

Once back inside, he saw the abandoned meal from the night before.  Initially he thought to clean it up, but it was hard to tell if anything might be salvaged, so he left everything where it was and returned upstairs.  Erestor was curled up on his side, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. Glorfindel was on his back, the blanket only covering him from the waist down.  The very same blanket, Fingon noted, was tented upward over Glorfindel’s groin, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I need to shave,” Fingon scolded himself as he felt the beginnings of the beard he was not fond of.  It likely amusing to his friends and family that he hated his own facial hair, but loved it when Glorfindel opted to go a few weeks without facial grooming. Despite this unfortunate discovery, Fingon knelt down by the side of the bed and bestowed a kiss upon Glorfindel’s lips.

“Mmmmhh,” issued a groggy whimper, and the rosy lips charmingly twitched to return the kiss. The tongue smacked a few times before the lips slightly curled into a smile, and if one had been aware to notice, the erection bobbed a few times before the next grunt gave way to a light snore.

Fingon considered another attempt at waking Glorfindel, but walked around to the other side of the bed instead.  Here he knelt again, and managed to nuzzle his way into the burrow that Erestor had to kiss his lover -- no, his husband, he told himself with giddy delight -- on the nose.  If anyone hated his beard more than he did, it was Erestor, and he knew enough than to awaken him with the scritchy scratchiness.

“You need to be a little more aggressive,” Erestor smiled and murmured lazily. “He sleeps heavily, but believe me there is no means by which he is happier to be woken. If you can massage his...parts...he will respond to you quickly. The same will happen if you straddle him and begin to kiss his neck and face.”

“Oh… I was that obvious, huh?”  Fingon gave Erestor a proper kiss when he was beckoned closer before he returned to the other side of the bed.  “Touching or straddling…” Fingon rubbed his chin again, then chose the second option. He thought at first to align himself with Glorfindel’s erection, but then considered his options, and with the sheet still between them, he leaned down to kiss Glorfindel again, but this time arched in such a way that Glorfindel bumped against Fingon’s cleft.

“Uhnnnn,” now came from the blond somewhat more clearly--well, somewhat. “Ress. No fair teasing. Did not have orgasm last night.” Charmingly, the word ‘orgasm’ sounded a great deal like an ancient Southron fruit variety.  Erestor, waking up a little more, firmly held his hand over his mouth to stifle a chuckle. 

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Erestor whispered to Fin very softly, his sparkling eyes cuing Fingon that the proverbial dance floor was his now.

“We could remedy that,” said Fingon clearly before he kissed Glorfindel.  Once again, slightly more insistent, he rubbed against Glorfindel’s arousal.

“UUUHHHNNnnnnnnnn,” Glorfindel gasped, bucking upward into the body weight that had such pleasing contact with the unsatisfied parts of his anatomy, followed by a whimper. “Ress, please. Want you now. Please,” he whined, his eyes never opening. “Stupid sheet,” was significantly slurred, but understandable.

Fingon was surprised on two counts.  First, while he had been around at times when one or both of his mates were erect first thing in the morning, he had not been a direct party to what followed.  Glorfindel’s insistence, while still mostly asleep, was unexpected, and Fingon felt the sheet pushing too close for comfort. He lifted himself back up on his haunches to avoid any additional chafing.  The second surprise was one of his own, for despite the momentarily unpleasant feeling caused by the sheet (and Glorfindel’s impatience), Fingon found he was becoming hard much faster than he was used to, and without much coaxing.  He bowed his head down so that his lips were near Glorfindel’s ear and asked, “Where do you keep the oil on this side of the bed?”

“Inda pillowcash. Cazzz.”

Erestor’s eyebrow arched. This was far, far more entertaining than sex. _ In the pillowcase, Káno, in the event you did not get that, there is a veritable chemist’s set in there under the pillow. Allow me. _ A deft hand snaked around and brought up a small corked vial, without even managing to cause the glassware to clink. Ignoring Fingon’s expression of pure astonishment, Erestor just shrugged as he handed it over. What could he say? It was not his pillow.

Fingon looked at the vial clenched in his hand.  That he held it now meant the responsibility was his, and his heart pounded as he considered his options.  The first was quite obviously the better option, from what he knew, and that was to prepare himself. This task seemed daunting, disgusting, and not something he was prepared to do.  The second option was to lather it on Glorfindel and hope for the best. Not only was that a terrible idea, it would require at least one of two things -- seeing Glorfindel’s penis, or, touching said penis.  The mere thought of dealing with anyone’s penis caused him to pale and swallow hard. He looked up at Erestor with pleading eyes.

_ No matter what you want him to do, he will love you for it. This is Fin. There is no need to worry about anything at all but your own comfort.  _ Erestor laid a reassuring hand on Fingon’s arm, for moral support.

Fingon bit his lip.  Perhaps that was not the answer he wanted, but it was probably the answer he needed, he realized.  He cleared his throat and leaned in to whisper to Glorfindel again. In a way, he had been prolonging the game to see just how far Glorfindel would go without knowing who was really attempting intimacies with him.  “Darling,” he began, “I could use a little help. I am still so new to this… I had hoped you might, uh, make me ready to be loved by you.” He tried his best to sound absolutely nothing like Erestor while speaking, almost reaching the higher octave normally heard when something shocked him and he was speaking terribly fast, except he said the words as clearly as he could.  It occurred to him that referencing Erestor would make it obvious he was not Erestor, and so he said, “Erestor made me feel so good last night, and I just know that you will, too.” A blush spread over his cheeks and he sat up to wait for the reply.

The blue-green eyes opened in confusion, blinking. For a moment he stared, for it was all he could do. In the end he took Fingon’s hand, holding it as though it was glass. “Truly?” he whispered in query. “You...want me?” Such hope and apprehension quavered through the inquiry.

Fingon held out the vial of oil with a shiver of anticipation.  “Well, Erestor and I have already made love to each other twice, and I thought we had better… settle the score.  Or something. Ugh, that was terrible, forget that line.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “I went out to bathe this morning, and while I was replaying what a wonderful time I had yesterday, my mind drifted to the ‘what-if’ of our relationship.  From carrying me up here to tending to my worn out body last night, you have always been so gentle to me. I had only intended to come up and see what everyone wanted for breakfast, but…” Keeping his eyes locked on Glorfindel, he rocked back, finding that Glorfindel was indeed still erect.  “...I basically forgot that was my original goal. Can you blame me?”

“I love you,” Glorfindel told him, sitting up. The sheet slid down to the root of his phallus, its further progress waylaid. “Is...how do you imagine this happening?” he wanted to know. “The same position as last night, or--? I very badly want this to please you and--” Raw feelings threatened to overwhelm him, so he left off talking in order to concentrate on centering himself. Many sweet kisses were peppered in a trail from the palm of Fingon’s hand to the soft skin of his wrist and forearm.

Fingon considered Glorfindel's words as he rolled the vial between his fingers, inadvertently warming it. "This morning I had a chance to think about not only last night but these years spent together. I think I have a better understanding of something I previously considered unnecessary and, honestly, disgusting. The act itself can be beautiful and I want to experience that with you. I want to experience the different ways I have seen the two of you make love. I thought perhaps, like this?" he said of their current position. "I am sure it is a bit more challenging, but I would like to give it a try."

“Nothing is really challenging with three people,” Erestor noted. “This should be special for you both; I will gladly assist.”

“Raise up just for a moment,” Glorfindel requested. Fingon seemed uncertain as to why, but the mystery was solved when Erestor deftly tugged the sheet out of the way. “Mmmmm,” the blond smiled. “Now come here and kiss me. Kiss me like you did the first time we ever really kissed.”

“With pleasure,” purred Fingon as he melted against Glorfindel, brushing the back of his fingers across Glorfindel’s cheek.  “We need to kiss more often.” Fingon slid his fingers back into Glorfindel’s hair and in a rush, he channeled into his kisses the passion that had been building in the early morning when he thought of what was waiting for him when he returned to the bedroom, and all that was waiting for him in the future.  Deeply he kissed Glorfindel, tongues gliding over each other. There was a greater hunger than Fingon anticipated, and he moved one hand to massage Glorfindel’s shoulder as he moved away from kissing Glorfindel’s lips to kissing his throat and ears before focusing again on his mouth.

Erestor smiled at the sight, finding this to be rewarding beyond its sensual qualities. Still floating on the cloud of last night’s creation, he gave them some time to desire each other more intently. Then he remembered something, and returned his hand to Glorfindel’s pillowcase. Fishing carefully around without disturbing the two lovers finally placed his fingers on the sought-after object; a small jar. Worried that Fingon would be overly sore without it, he brought forth another of their special emollients, though this was not one they often needed. A compound of artemesia, in an oil base, would be applied momentarily to Fingon, to ease penetration. While Glorfindel was the least endowed of the three of them as to length, he possessed a significant girth. That made it in everyone’s best interest to ensure Fingon experienced as little discomfort as possible. Finally satisfied with his array of preparatory materials, Erestor began by feathering his hand along the curves of Fingon’s enticingly muscular rear.

It was hard for Fingon to keep all of his thoughts in line.  His typically well-ordered mind was jumbled with thoughts and feelings from the onslaught of both familiar and new sensations.  How long had it been since someone had casually touched him the way Erestor now did? This, while Glorfindel continued to kiss him.  Kissing had often been the extent of the enjoyment Fingon found with a lover; all other roads seemed to lead to a place he had no previous desire to be.  Even now, he shook a little as he felt Erestor’s hand and imagined what would happen next. Would it be like the night before, or was that never to repeat again?  Would future attempts not be as exciting or delightful, and would Fingon feel the need to pretend they were for the benefit of his--

“Breathe, Káno.”

The words, whispered by Erestor, made Fingon realize he had tensed, and while hovering over Glorfindel, was no longer actively kissing him.  Fingon opened his eyes to see Glorfindel watching him with concern. Embarrassment colored Fingon’s cheeks, and had he not been between them, and blocked from the door, he might have bolted.  Glorfindel slid a hand around to rub Fingon’s back, and Erestor stroked Fingon’s hair.

“We can stop at any time.  We do all of this at your pace, sweetheart.”  Erestor nuzzled and kissed Fingon’s neck. “If something does not feel right, we stop.  We readjust, or, we wait. We love you.”

Fingon licked his lips and nodded at Erestor’s words.  His head turned so that he could kiss Erestor, not in passion, but in thanks for his compassion.  Then to Glorfindel he returned, and began with slow kisses, building back up to a point where they were both erect.  Fingon found that if he took time to remind himself to breathe, it kept his mind from wandering to the terror of what-ifs.  When he concentrated on the love he felt from both of his partners, his sweet and loving spouses, he felt a different flutter within him, one of warm comfort and giddy excitement.

“I feel so wanted,” Glorfindel told him, tears pooling in his eyes. “And I want you. I want to bond with you, my husband. My protector, my savior, my courage and my strength. I never really dreamed...” He shook his head a little at his own foolishness. “I suppose I dreamed, but I never believed. Love you so much.” His body ached in hope of joining with his new mate, though as ever this hope was tempered with patience. “So much.”

Slowly and gently Fingon touched Glorfindel’s face with his fingertips while his gaze wandered over the glorious body before him.  As his hands moved down into Glorfindel’s hair he took a deep breath as he felt the silky smooth tendrils. Reverently, he lifted a golden lock.  With his eyes still upon Glorfindel he brought it to his lips and kissed it once before letting go so that it fanned out. “We have both waited far too long to be complete.  The love I have for you is so great, it is beyond measure.” Fingon bowed his head to kiss Glorfindel once more, and then, still looking down at the fair face before him, he said, “Erestor, I think we are ready, if you would so honor us with your assistance.”

“Gladly,” Erestor answered quietly, his fingers going into motion. First, just a small amount of what would help with soreness was placed at Fingon’s entrance, then just inside as well. Next, the oil with lavender, to fully prepare him. It was successful last night, and Erestor hated to tinker with favorable outcomes. 

Glorfindel reached forward, holding out a hand to Erestor, who grinned and added quite enough oil to his cupped fingers out of a third bottle (they had no lack of options, and this one was a relaxing spearmint-scented compound that would compliment the lavender). This was lavished on Fingon’s arousal, which Glorfindel shuddered to take in hand. Anything that could feel so good merely to hold--well, no one could blame him if he was already fantasizing about where else it might travel. In fact--he bit his lip and lowered his gaze. This moment had been imagined many times, but it had not played out like this in his mind. It had always been Káno taking him, not the other way around. He would still be on the bottom and...did it really have to matter? Maybe he was being stupid again, to think about this now. It was not as if this would be their only time.

Adjusting to the new sensations was easier than Fingon expected it to be.  The experience the night before had been positive, and that likely made all the difference.  Fingon breathed deeply and leaned in to nuzzle and kiss Glorfindel.

The affection was eagerly returned, Glorfindel having resigned himself to how this would proceed. Except, someone else did not agree.

“Fin, wait,” Erestor requested. “I know what you are doing. It is very noble of you, but you need to tell Káno what you are feeling. Yes, there will be other times for making love, but this will be your only bonding. We promised each other we would share our concerns and our thoughts, and I cannot in good conscience fail to speak up.” Next, he laid a hand on Fingon’s back. “He wants you very much, but he always dreamed that when you bonded, you would take him. He wants to please you so badly that he is burying that desire in order to put you first. Should it not be talked about?” The question was spoken timidly at the end; despite his brave words Erestor now feared he had intruded too far. Closing his eyes, he covered his mouth with his hand. “I am so sorry. That sounded different in my mind, and I fear I have just ruined what should be a joyful and sacred encounter between the two of you.” His voice trembled. “Please forgive me.”

Fingon immediately stopped as soon as he heard the words ‘Fin, wait’.  Despite it not being the nickname of choice for him here in this house, thousands of years of being referred to this way could not be so easily buried.  He hovered a moment, and then eased down on his side to listen to the concerns Erestor expressed. “Glorfindel?” Fingon tilted his head. “Please, sweetness, tell me what you want.”  He once again drew his fingers through the strands of gold and kept himself propped up on one side to look at Glorfindel as he spoke.

Unable to do anything about his predicament, Glorfindel’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I am sorry, Káno,” he said in a small voice. “I wanted to do this as you wanted, for you.” Swallowing hard, he continued, knuckling away a tear. “Erestor is telling the truth. If you do not want to, now--.”  Chin trembling, he managed to say the last few words. “I understand.”

Fingon hooked a finger under Glorfindel’s chin and leaned in to offer him another kiss.  “I think I have a grand solution, but I want to tell you what I was thinking about this morning before anyone else was awake.”  Fingon laid down on his back and pulled Glorfindel into his arms. After a nuzzle into the soft, fluffy golden hair, Fingon began to share his thoughts.  “When I coached, I felt that I should never ask an athlete to do something I was not prepared to do myself. When I became a librarian, I never expected any member of the staff under my leadership to complete a task I did not know how to do.  This continued into all aspects of my life, and it why I was in the middle of the battle that claimed my life. I was not going to be a--” HIs gaze flickered momentarily at Erestor, yet he continued. “--a coward like Morgoth.

“When Maedhros and I were together, I was not entirely certain if I wanted to make the commitment to him that would be required of bonding.  There were a lot of reasons, but one of my hesitations came from his insistence that in an intimate relationship between two men, one of them had to play the part of the woman.  He felt I was better suited for that, and he also made it clear he had no desire to be in a… I hate to say submissive role, because I think it takes a lot of balls to take a cock up the ass whether someone is in love or not.  We… had differing opinions on this, and then, as you know, I just… sort of gave up days before the battle.” He scratched his head and stretched his arm to better position himself. “I know that I like to be a leader as much as I bitch and moan about it at times.  What the three of us have is amazing to me. This is what I had been searching for -- this is what I never thought I would have. On one hand, I think I very easily could have transitioned to a position of being on top, all the time. Ever since bonding with Erestor,” Fingon said, and now he looked up at Erestor again, “it had been in the back of my mind that what I would be doing was unfair, and I kept telling myself that I did not have the right to ask for another night like that, or even consider a night with you, until I considered what happened last night.  I knew that a lot of people derived pleasure from it, and I guess I needed to know for myself if I really hated it, or if I just ended up in a bad fucking situation all those years ago. I would very much like to make love to you, Glorfindel… I just ended up in a place of unexpected curiosity. As I said, I have a solution, but I would hear from you what other concerns you might have, or if there are other parameters I should know about.”

Glorfindel stared at him in disbelief before he had to knuckle away another tear. “The first time we ever talked--really talked--I told you all there really is to know about me. I mean, what I prefer in bed. It is not so much that I cannot be the one in the giving role. Obviously, Ress and I trade off a great deal, because he does not always prefer to be the dominant one and I love him enough to respect that. I greatly enjoy giving to him but I think up here--” He tapped the side of his head-- “I gain an extra edge of gratification from being the recipient. I have looked up to you in ways that perhaps are not altogether fair on my part, but you never shamed me for my dependencies or my weaknesses. That more than anything else caused me to give you my heart, because I believed that finally I had found a man who would accept me as I am and love me despite my flaws.” 

The blue-green eyes now looked to Erestor. “I love you with all my heart, Ress. I always have, even when some of the things you did hurt me deeply. I hold nothing against you. But I feel I must explain that there is something about a relationship that has never been damaged in that way. I do not mean to disparage you. This is hard for me to explain. Sometimes you can clarify my mind better than I can. Help me?” 

Shaking his head, Erestor smiled. “As always, Fin, you are kinder than I deserve. You talk about being loved despite your flaws when instead you might have said that I was an utter asshole to you and caused you a great deal of undeserved pain by my reprehensible behavior. I think you expressed yourself very well. So well that you would make a fabulous politician.”

“For the record,” interrupted Fingon softly, “I am just a narcissist, but a very kind and lovable narcissist.”  

A soft radiance appeared on Glorfindel’s face, and now his eyes turned back to Fingon. “I hope somewhere in there I answered your question. And, uhm, do not take this the wrong way, but I kind of noticed that. I do not mind, because you genuinely do care about me. Maybe you do not consider that there is more than one stripe of narcissist. There was, uhm, Gildor, you know.” Glorfindel briefly frowned, recalling that there was also Faelion, but he refused to speak that name at a time like this. “I hope you also know that whether you are a narcissist or not, you genuinely have no need to be. You are gifted, accomplished, and list achievements to which neither Ress or I will ever even come close. You may tell me of your talents all you wish, if it helps you somehow. But I already know those things, for I have watched you when you thought no one was looking and your skills are so beautiful to behold that it hurts.” Again, he smiled, but more broadly this time. “I have said enough about this. What I want is a kiss, and then to hear your solution.”

“I shall do my very best to please you,” said Fingon before he leaned down and kissed Glorfindel not once, but thrice.  He tapped Glorfindel’s nose with a smile. “How do you know I did not know you were watching?” he whispered with a grin.  “You do realize, I show off an awful lot if I know I have an audience, and you and Erestor are my favorite fans.” He batted his eyelashes and snickered.  “Oh, I am such a goff sometimes,” he said apologetically. He took a deep breath and his expression morphed into one which was more serious. “My solution, should you find it agreeable, is for both of us to have what we want.  You see, getting back to what I said earlier, all I ever wanted from Maedhros was for him to be willing to be an equal partner in our relationship. All he ever had to do was offer, and I would have found a way to submit to him every night if that was what he really wanted.”  

Fingon took another deep breath.  “Thanks to Erestor, I am extremely relaxed.  I have no idea what he did back there, but I feel this strange, numb, relaxed, and delightful feeling in a place I previously tried to ignore existed.  My curiosity is getting the better of me, and I would like to feel how the positions differ, and how you would feel within me. Just a taste, as it were, which I think may, should it be anything like yesterday, help to firm up my normally bashful erection.  At that point, I would most certainly yield to you yielding to me,” he said slowly, and all the time, touching, nuzzling, nipping, and kissing.

A happiness Glorfindel had experienced far too few times in his life descended. Eyes closed, he smiled between the kisses. “Ress?”

“I am right here, Fin,” Erestor answered.

“Please keep intruding from now on.”

“Sir, yes sir!” he teased, feeling more than a little gratified by the outcome of his choices.

“Help us?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yes.” For just a moment, Erestor closed his eyes to bask in his own joy and appreciate the sounds his partners made in their exchange of love. Then he laid his hand on Fingon’s back. “Káno, when you are ready, rise up enough so I can care for Fin. Then I will guide you to join together.”

Fingon stretched and sat up, then playfully bit at Erestor’s ear.  “Sir, yes, sir,” he drawled before he backed just far enough away to give them some room, but close enough to watch and learn with a smile still on his lips.  “I will get to help, right?”

Chuckling, Erestor lovingly patted his bottom. “I need to oil Fin’s arousal. I was taking a guess that might not be your favorite part, but you can always help with anything you wish. Or you can just anticipate this firm, thick--” 

Fingon’s expression suddenly turned solemn, his eyes widening a little as he looked down and really took a look at what Erestor was touching.  The thing he had just expressed interest in having inside of him truly was firm, thick, and intimidating. He then realized his lips were parted, and he was still staring.  “Accurate description,” he said once he reminded himself to breathe again.

Abruptly Erestor had stopped talking.  “Uhm, maybe I should focus on what I was doing.” His own analysis had left him fully erect, which was not quite where he intended to be.

Finding that his own penis had a momentary lapse in interest, Fingon reached under his hair and teased the edge of his left ear with his thumb.  “Fin, darling,” he said as his erection returned, “what position would be your preference this morning? Remember, I am a narcissistic gymnastic dancer, I can probably get us into just about any position you desire.”

A gleam of anticipation not often seen lit up the lovely eyes. “Crouch over me, then, so I have the pleasure of seeing all of your beautiful body. I will do my part from underneath. Besides, I know how well you can hold poses. Or will this be the time your concentration might not be so good?” The golden eyebrow raised, and the mild challenge was thrown down. Truly, he did not care about positions, though since this would be an unprecedented opportunity to appreciate his new husband’s assets, it would be foolish to let it lie. A final lick of his lips betrayed his eagerness.

“Did you just challenge me?”  Fingon looked up at Erestor. “I think he just challenged me.”  Back down to Glorfindel, Fingon now had a glint of sass in his eyes.  “You realize I always win, right?”

“Do you?” Glorfindel smiled dreamily. “Hmmmm.”

“Mmmhmm… I mean, look where I am,” Fingon said as he lifted a hand.  “Look at who I am with… can you really think of a more fortunate person?  I certainly cannot.” Fingon waited until Erestor moved to allow him clearance, then made a show of stretching his leg out, holding it for an impossibly long duration, and then shifting it gracefully down so that he was straddled over Glorfindel again.  “Is this what you had in mind, or something else?” he asked.

“Lovely,” the blond smiled. “I believe that if you allow him, Ress will guide you into alignment with me. This time, you will control everything, including how slowly or quickly I enter your body. Just remember to push against me, and take your time. What Eru took away from me in length I sometimes think he added to me in girth.”

At this quip, the dark head quickly appeared. “I have always felt myself to be the most fortunate recipient of your assets, Fin. Because...well. Shush, Erestor,” he reminded himself. “And stop drooling.”

Now Fingon shifted around a little, moving his palms to rest at just the right spot, and repositioned his knees twice before he was happy with the way he was arranged over Glorfindel.  “If you would be so kind, cupcake, I think this is the part where we would be extremely grateful for your assistance.”

Deftly taking Glorfindel’s erection in hand, Erestor held it at just the right angle, unable to resist a few strokes and rubs while he was at it, and smiling wickedly when he heard the moans from his efforts. “You are both just where you need to be,” he told them, encouragingly massaging near Fingon’s entrance while he waited. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to offer a prayer for them. This moment was the realization of so many hopes and dreams, and blessings.

“Alright.”  Fingon eased back, but he also bent his knees as he did so.  He missed his mark, but straightened up to try again. The second time, he simply moved back-- yet this technique was also poorly executed, and Fingon grumbled at his combination of frustration and nerves.  “I am so bad at this,” he admonished himself. He took a deep breath. "I swear, I need the remedial course in gayness,” he mumbled. 

Instead of making another attempt immediately, Fingon closed the gap between himself and Glorfindel and began to kiss him again.  Kissing gave way to caressing, and sometimes even a bite on the shoulder or the fondling of a thigh. In the midst of the renewed foreplay, Fingon made an effort not so much to join with Glorfindel as he did just enjoying their closeness.  He began to experiment with the way he moved his body, arching his back and rolling his hips, and at the first hint of reaching his goal he paused. He had one eye open, his tongue between his teeth, and he even momentarily looked over his shoulder as if it would somehow help as he felt the initial intrusion.  At first, he bit his lip with uncertainty, but then as he found that Erestor’s preparations had relaxed him more than he had initially believed, he flexed his interior muscles a few times before he shifted back just a little more. His only verbalization was to groan a little as he closed his eyes.

“My husband,” Glorfindel murmured over and over, as he felt himself being taken in. Fingon was tight and so perfectly warm, but more than that was the certainty that by the time they left this bed they would at last be joined in every sense. And for that reason, it was very difficult to restrain his tears.

For Fingon, every moment was intensely overwhelming, and he continued to need to remind himself to breathe, as was evident with his first compulsive gasp for air.  He paused with each adjustment, moving slowly as was advised. While it was reminiscent of the previous night, there were differences in the experience. Once he felt skin against his backside and had Glorfindel seemingly sheathed within him, he fought to block a flittering thought of disappointment that manifested when he did not feel the jolt of excitement he expected, but it was not successfully blocked, yet it was to his advantage that the thought was not hidden.  For just a moment, hands were upon his hips, and whose they were made no difference to him, for the next moment, he was jerked down, and Glorfindel was deeper still, and THEN he felt what he was expecting, and…

“Ohhh… nnnggghh...ugh!  Ugh...ugh…” Whatever noises he made were unbefitting a king, and he cared very little.  He stayed seated, but rolled his hips, and kneaded his fingers into Glorfindel’s shoulders, and tilted his head back before he could catch himself from reacting in such an undignified way, and honestly cared very little, because he was sure neither of hs husbands cared what he looked like or how he sounded.  In fact, he felt they were quite pleased, from what thoughts he picked up on, and so he pressed back even more with the next roll of his hips, and let out something of a little outcry that surprised him. 

As he rocked back and forth, building the pleasure within himself (and hopefully, for Glorfindel as well), he fell into a rhythm.  His mind wandered, but only to reflection, and he seemed at once to realize what he was doing -- what they were doing. He heard his next series of groans so very loudly, and then, he stopped.  His hands still held onto Glorfindel’s shoulders, but now he was almost clinging to him as he looked down and a flood of emotion got the better of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but tears came, free flowing, and he blurted out half an explanation of, “I am no longer scared,” but this somehow did not seem enough, or perhaps he knew it could be misinterpreted considering the circumstances.  Carefully, he disengaged, and tried to be careful not to simply collapse onto Glorfindel as he sniffled and buried his face in the crook of Glorfindel’s neck. “I always thought I would just be alone forever,” was all he managed before his body trembled and he held Glorfindel tight.

“Oh sweetheart,” Glorfindel told him while he returned the pressure of the embrace. “No. We are here now, and everything has changed. For all of us. You are the best thing that has ever happened to Ress and I. We were...it was never right before you, no matter how much we tried.”

Erestor’s eyes clouded with tears, as he considered how many years he had wasted on that exact belief. Carefully, he extended himself to lie against both of them, to share in the embrace. “I thought that also, but in a different way,” he admitted. “And every day I thank Eru that I was wrong. Just as I thank Eru every day for both of you, here, at my side.”

It took Fingon a few minutes to regain his calm.  He wiped under his nose and said, “You know, I never let anyone else see this part of me.  I always want people to think I am brave, and that means not crying in public if at all and never admitting so much of what I feel, and being this solid, unmovable rock.  Except, everything that has been happening has happened so quickly, and now I feel like one of those.. oh, what is it?” he questioned himself as a few additional tears streamed down his cheeks.  “Like a geode, where only by breaking it you actually get to see how beautiful it is on the inside. Shit, that sounds corny,” he self-reprimanded.

“Not corny,” Glorfindel told him, wiping those tears away. “I...I really needed to hear that. Because I still struggle with feeling ashamed of what I have become. Not being the image everyone has of me, the great balrog slayer. What you told me, years ago--my courage is still somewhere, and your honesty has been much of why I have faith I can find it again. Your words tell me I am not alone.”

“No.  None of us are alone,” affirmed Fingon.  He took hold of Glorfindel’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and pressed his lips against it for several moments.  He did the same to Erestor, and then pulled to his chest each of their hands and held them there. “There is so much love within me for each of you, and it just keeps growing.”  He nuzzled at their fingers and then looked to Glorfindel. “I still wish to bond with you. I want us to make this union whole, if you are still of a mind to do that now.”

“Please…” Glorfindel pleaded. “I want you more than ever. Please take me. Husband.” His hand cupped against the side of Fingon’s face. Golden hair splayed out all over the pillow, leaving the sight of the extraordinarily beautiful elf on display beneath Fingon. Even though this view was familiar to him, Erestor caught himself holding his breath from desire. After all this time, Glorfindel very much moved him.

Fingon straddled Glorfindel again, one hand cupping behind his head, and the other sneaking into the pillowcase to see what mystery lubricant he might find there.  “I did not know how I would feel about this new title, but I find it endearing.” He almost went on to explain that Maedhros thought it was stupid to use the word ‘husband’ if there was no wife in the equation, and his wife would only call him ‘sire’, for unbeknownst to him while they were together for the benefit of the people and his need to father an heir, she had a true husband he only discovered before he sent her and the children to safety.  His fingers brushed against a small vial, and he grasped hold of it and withdrew it from the pillowcase. “I hope this is a good one,” he said. There was not much inside, but there was enough, Fingon guessed. Unwilling to stop massaging the back of Glorfindel’s neck just yet, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spit it across the mattress as he had seen both of his mates do in the past when in the heat of the moment. “I love you, husband.”  A warm feeling flooded Fingon, and he leaned down to kiss Glorfindel as he tipped the oil to dribble over his own erection. While kissing Glorfindel, he dropped the vial to the side, rubbed the oil quickly over the length of his desire, and then used his slick fingers to tease Glorfindel’s puckered entrance. His own muscles twitched, knowing now what Glorfindel was beginning to feel.

A pitch of stimulation washed over him; something long hoped-for was now imminent and his body squirmed and writhed into the touches. Usually he would be calm, passive, but an impatient passion rose up and could not be controlled. Glorfindel’s hips tilted up with abandon, seeking to move those fingers inside of him. A deep moan of yearning tore from him; unexpected in view of his usually higher voice. “Káno, please. Please do not make me wait. I need this. I need you. I  need us.”

Erestor’s eyebrows raised, as he caught sight of Glorfindel’s erection. Throbbing with want in time to his heartbeat, the organ was visibly engorged to a degree that he had rarely seen. He decided it might be worth giving advice.  _ He is aching for you, Káno. So much so that it hurts.  _ Deciding to take a risk, he allowed some of Glorfindel’s thought to filter through to Fingon, because it was easier than trying to explain.  _ I love you both, so much. _

Understanding came before hearing Glorfindel’s inner monologue, but the words shared between them by Erestor reinforced the thoughts Fingon had in his own mind.  He hurried with his preparation, not wanting to injure Glorfindel, yet knowing that his partner was far more used to this activity. “I want you to let me know… well, of course you will, why am I saying this?”  Fingon withdrew his fingers and moved closer. He hooked one hand under one of Glorfindel’s knees, for his legs seemed to be in the way of his ultimate goal, and yet, he now froze, confused. “Um… legs… legs… where should they go?  Bent, or over my shoulders, or do I just hold them…” he trailed off, trying not to sound as if he was panicking, which he most certainly was.

“Allow me,” Glorfindel smiled, pulling up his knees against his chest. A waiting Erestor obligingly pushed a cushion where it created a helpful geometry, grinning widely. “When you are situated I can move my legs to your shoulders or around your waist. We could even try legs anywhere you wish them--I am just so happy to have you. Please relax, Káno. Relax and think about how grateful I am to you, and the joy we are about to share. This is my dream come true.”

A slow nod was accompanied by Fingon gripping Glorfindel’s hips for support.  The tip of his tongue peeked out at the corner of his lips as he aligned himself with the intention of easing in.  The oil and Glorfindel’s position more than aided him, and his eyes widened as he sunk in deep. The moan of appreciation from his lover left no doubt of the great enjoyment he provided.  He swallowed hard and groaned as his eyes began to roll back before he closed them. Breathe, he reminded himself, and once that was accomplished, he recalled a second necessary component: Move. 

Back and forth, in and out, Fingon rocked slightly on his knees, which had the desired effect.  His fingers dug into Glorfindel’s skin, kneading insistently. It was only after the sixth grunt that he remembered something else, and fumbled to move one of Glorfindel’s legs over his shoulders.

He did not get the chance to move the second leg, for it stretched out quite straight, unfolding elegantly to point directly upward. Next, Glorfindel’s foot described a graceful arc as he brought it lightly to rest on Fingon’s shoulder--with a pleased smile. “Mmmm. I hope this is what you wish?”

Fingon watched, obviously impressed, and more than a little turned on.  “You are so fucking lucky I have a decent amount of self-control, because that…”  He turned his head to nip at Glorfindel’s toes. “Now… I think we left off… here.”  He rolled his hips experimentally and soon found his rhythm. It was like dancing-- no, it was dancing, but dancing with a partner.  Dancing as he had always wanted. Not alone. Never alone. Fingon let his hands wander now that he was more confident that what he was doing was pleasing not only himself, but Glorfindel as well.  Desire rippled out from his core, and he rubbed his cheek against Glorfindel’s ankle. “Mmm… I want to last… but I want… uuhhh… want to hear you… in my head…” Fingon increased his pace, yet still held back.

Glorfindel’s eyes were half-glazed with bliss. “Honey, this is incomparable. I love Erestor’s body but sweet Valar, you are--” A groan of sheer pleasure cut off the sentence. “You are enviably endowed and if you ever decided you wanted to do this all day...well, I am your man.”

“What about me?” Erestor whined, wide-eyed. “That is not fair and you know it.”

“Did you hear something, Káno? It almost sounded like a voice speaking, and yet it was so far away,” Glorfindel teased, holding out his hand to Erestor. “Be with me, Ress. I want to complete this journey knowing you are touching me as well.”

“I...I…” he huffed, flustered, before understanding that it was humor. “Of course I will, you silly elf.” Holding Glorfindel’s hand, he sucked gently on the fingertips.

“Bind us, Káno,” Glorfindel asked. “Let me feel you as I never have before.”

Through the banter, Fingon somehow managed to keep moving.  In fact, the side discussion in some ways served to make him less self conscious about being watched.  Now, so very close himself, he gave an experimental thrust forward that made him groan and prompted him to do it again.  The warmth of being near completion settled in his stomach, and he warned Glorfindel of this with a few simple words. “Almost there.  Come with me. Join with me.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes and nodded, slowly working his free hand down to his groin.

Erestor laid a hand on Fingon’s arm.  _ Sweetheart, you are doing so very well. I do not know if you can pleasure Fin to bring him to orgasm. I will help if you cannot; I only want to point out that the greatest perfection for this would be if you could stroke him with your hand. It will not need much. _

Through half-lidded eyes, Fingon looked down to see Glorfindel’s erection, firm and proudly displayed, bobbing ever so slightly in time with Fingon’s movements.  How far off would it really be compared to touching himself? Though he rarely did it, it was not foreign to him. He reached out with his hand trembling slightly and saw that the angle was different.  His attempts to judge how to best grasp Glorfindel caused him to pause, and it also led to distracting him from the main part of his task at hand. Before he could request further assistance, Erestor placed his hand over Fingon’s and gently guided his hand.  “Like this,” encouraged Erestor, and after Fingon managed a few strokes with Erestor’s aid, he took over by himself. Luckily, this also caused him to harden again, and to resume what he had started.

“Ohhh,” Glorfindel said, tears pooling in his eyes. “I did not expect you to...I mean, I did not think...aaaaaAAAAAAHH! Káno! Káno!” He was all but shouting, in the excess of his pleasure. Erestor’s hand managed to stay with Glorfindel’s as the blond ellon reached for the firm globes of Fingon’s rear, to pull him in harder and with abandon. Feeling the beginning of his climax, legs were swiftly moved to wrap around Fingon’s lower back, trapping his lover in a powerful hold. His nether regions clenched hard around the generously sized member. Struggling to breathe, he panted through the electrifying sensation encompassing his whole body. One last thought was given voice, very loudly: “Body and spirit, I love you Findekáno!” Surges of semen spurted a silvery sheen into the space separating their bodies, which Glorfindel struggled to close. He wanted nothing more than a kiss, and to feel that sweet tongue inside of his mouth.

Eyes flew wide open as Fingon realized Glorfindel had just as much control over the situation as he did.  Buried to the root, deeper than he had been in Erestor, Fingon felt himself twitch in the depths of Glorfindel’s body as Glorfindel reached the peak of his pleasure.  Somehow, he not only heard the words that Glorfindel shouted, but he heard something else that was Glorfindel’s voice as well. It was faint, either faraway or a whisper, but he heard it, a tickle in his mind like the thoughts he could pick up from Erestor.  With great excitement, he knew the bond was nearly complete, and he stretched to accommodate his husband’s request, kissing him over and over, even after he felt his own release and the tingling throughout his body that curled his toes and caused him to moan into Glorfindel’s mouth.

A sensation washed over Glorfindel; the reflection of a long buried memory; of falling from a great height, whilst being consumed by something external to himself. Of clinging, with all his might, to the source of the fire. Yet an important difference manifested here--this fire was not one of torment and agony but ecstasy. Glorfindel felt himself united to the source of his momentary enervation, and a new voice entered his thought. The heavy body pressed against him from above, buried so deeply inside of him. He welcomed the possession, as he might welcome all the light in creation filling his spirit with love.  _ Husband, I am yours at last!  _ his innermost heart exulted.  _ I am bound, but have never felt so free. _

_ This is… us.  _ There was a strange sensation now.  No longer was there a need to express things verbally, though Fingon knew they would because there was something familiar and relaxing about hearing each other’s voice.  From now on, though, they were one, and he smiled against Glorfindel’s lips. “I am with you,” he said, feeling the energy surrounding them and within them dissipating, and a new warmth flooding him.  He held on as long as he could, until the ache of holding this position so long seeped through his muscles, and he ever so slowly slid away, only long enough to readjust on his back and to pull Glorfindel close to him again.  He beckoned for Erestor to join them with his hand before his arm tightly wrapped around Glorfindel.

“I can feel it too,” Erestor murmured, wondering. “Through both of you. That was beautiful. So beautiful. I have now been blessed to experience three such bindings, here.” Erestor tapped the side of his head. “Each one so different. Each one so moving. I would not have understood, without our special relationship. You see I often wondered…” Speaking slowly, each of his words was selected with care. “I wondered whether it was the same for each one of us. Now I know that Eru provides as many different gifts as Varda has granted us stars in her firmament. Each one unique, precious, sacred. I will not forget this, ever.”

“I never want to get out of this bed,” said Fingon as he reached out for Erestor, wanting him close.  “I just want to stay here with the two of you.” His stomach grumbled, and he smiled in spite of himself.  “Well, maybe we need to consider lunch at some point.” Fingon kissed Glorfindel, and then Erestor once he was close enough, and sighed as he closed his eyes.  “May Eru bless what He has built for us. May this bond strengthen and never be broken. I thought this could only ever be a dream. I love you both so much.”

Glorfindel suddenly went very quiet, his thoughts turning inward.

“Fin?” Erestor asked. “What is it?”

The answer came slowly. “Uhm...it is something about how this feels. About how it is different. I bonded with you, Ress. Even...you know, the other one.” Still he refused to speak the name at times like this. “But it was not like this.”

“What do you mean? There is no wrong answer, love,” Erestor assured him, seeing the doubt on Glorfindel’s face.

“It sounds bad,” Glorfindel prefaced. “I do not mean it as it will sound, but I also do not know how else to say it. There is such a powerful sensation that this union is right. Meant to be. I feel a little afraid because...should they not all have felt like this? I do not understand.”

Fingon broke the contemplative silence with his own thoughts.  “It is… stronger feeling, I suppose I would say. I think it is perhaps because now all three of us are joined together.”

“No.”  Erestor quietly spoke, head rested against Fingon’s shoulder.  He draped his arm across Fingon’s chest and at the same time took hold of Glorfindel’s hand.  “The two of you were meant to be from the start. When I said I felt it, and told you how beautiful it was… I knew.  But…” Erestor blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. “But I always knew. Even when I told you, in Rivendell, what had happened to me before I came to Middle-earth… I think that was my way of… cautioning, warning?  I thought it was going to be…” And now, he stopped trying to chase the tears away, and lifted his free hand to wipe at his eyes. “I thought it was going to be him, and I stayed out of the way because I felt like I never deserved you to begin with.  And this… this is overwhelming to me. Overwhelming in a very, very wonderful way.”

Fingon repositioned himself to be able to fully see Erestor. “Cupcake,” he asked softly, “what are you saying? This sounds rather important, and this is the first either Glorfindel or I are hearing of it.”

“I am only here because of you, Káno.”  Erestor held Glorfindel’s hand tighter. “If Mandos had not taken part of my soul and given it to you, I would be the one all alone.”

“I understand,” Glorfindel said, both proud of his deduction and feeling sad and uneasy at the same time.  “If you had stayed here, if you had not offered your life to keep Artanis safe…” Glorfindel looked at Fingon.  “You and I.”

It suddenly dawned on Fingon.  “We are each one half of the… original whole.”  He cringed at the words as soon as they were said.  “But who is to say this was not Eru’s plan all along?”

“No one can know that,” Glorfindel pointed out. “We can only know that it is. Ress…” The pressure on his hand was returned. “It will be my life’s work to heal the pain you have lived with, and to see you whole with everything you ever deserved but were denied. I am so sorry, never to have fully realized…” Lifting the fingers to his lips, he kissed them. “I wish so much that I had seen clearly.”

“I have spoken so much in riddles and mysteries over the course of my life it is a wonder anyone can figure any of it out at times,” Erestor said.  “I accept the blessing of our union gladly. As I consider all of the possible paths in my life, and where the roads untraveled might have led, even for all the sorrow it caused, I would still take every step of the journey in my past to arrive here with both of you.”

“And that is why we are blessed to have you with us,” said Fingon solemnly.

“I never wanted you to have to suffer the things you did,” Glorfindel told him, tears pooling in his eyes. “I tried so hard to keep them from you, but...it was not meant to be. There is so much I do not understand. Maybe I am not supposed to. I have you both, and it is enough.”

Erestor took a deep breath, for obviously he had other thoughts he had been shielding, and he spoke them now.  “Maybe I had to go through everything I did this time around. Maybe… maybe I needed that so that I did not turn into my father.”  Erestor swallowed hard. “He was a coward, yes, I agree with what you said, Fingon, but he was also cruel and brutal, and… and I will never not be his progeny.  It gets hard, at times, not to think about it. If everything I was told about my fractured childhood is true, that means while Morgoth was indirectly responsible for both of your deaths, it was my fault, too.  If I really did help him design all of those horrible demons… those… monsters,” he settled upon, for balrog was still a word he wished was foreign in his vocabulary. “Maybe I needed to experience pain and loss in a way I had caused it for others.”

“I do not want to believe that,” protested Glorfindel vehemently. “You could not even remember. What possible justice could there be in that?” He looked helplessly to Fingon, as if he somehow could supply an answer. “I mean, you are basically asserting that  _ you _ killed me, Ress. I refuse to accept that.”

Several minutes passed while all of Fingon’s former transgressions filtered through his mind, many of which he was extremely ashamed of, and there was no lack of experiences from the kinslaying to be found.  In his head, it all seemed quite impossible that everything Erestor said was true, and yet, he believed what he had said. At the risk of validating Erestor’s thoughts, Fingon placed his hands upon Erestor’s face and looked him deep in his eyes.  “I think Fin is right, but I know you believe your words to be true, and so I shall say this: I forgive you.”

Erestor closed his eyes, jaw trembling, and he placed his hand on Fingon’s arms.  He tried to say something, but his voice failed him, and so he came closer and nestled against Fingon to cry upon his chest.

“Oh, Ress, do not cry,” Glorfindel begged. “I cannot see why you need to hear it, but if you do--of course I forgive you. I do not hold you responsible. Even if you did dream up those horrible servants, you were not the one that gave them life and purpose. None...no one...we cannot choose our fathers, Ress. I have never thought of you that way even though I have known for a long time...the only thing that lives in you is the beauty Melko forsook long ago, as the greatest child of Eru. And a great beauty it is. Ever has it held my heart.” Tears he could no longer restrain flowed to see Erestor in distress.

“And if we really, really want to go down this road,” Fingon reminded them, “then my father tried to kill your father because I was going to go and kill your father, and then your father killed my father.  I do not think of Morgoth as your father. I consider Tata and Tatie to be your parents-- flawed though they might be, for all parents are, they love you and they give a damn about you, and Morgoth only ever used you as a pawn in his games.”  Fingon stroked Erestor’s hair as he spoke. “We all need to stop reliving the past over and over -- myself included. I need to stop bringing up the fucking kinslaying as if it happened last week. I need to stop acting like the whole thing was my responsibility.  It is difficult, yes, but all of us need to stop being so self-destructive. We have so much here that is good, and such a wonderful future to enjoy together. Yes, there will be bad times on the horizon. Yes, I will do more stupid things in your garden,” confirmed Fingon, which gained him the smallest hint of a smile against his skin from Erestor’s lips, and now Erestor looked up and wiped his eyes.  “You are both so much more than you believe you are. I mean, honestly,” he said, with a slightly mirthful tone to his voice, “do you think Eru was going to match up the best looking, most talented high king of the Noldor with just anyone? Ignore the fact I had the shortest reign -- I just get easily distrac-- hey, what are we going to have for lunch?”

The most amazing array of sound followed when Glorfindel choked on a snort and began coughing uncontrollably--while also laughing.

Erestor sniffled. “I did not think an elf could make that noise. Those noises. I feel impressed,” he chuckled, now smiling. “Be careful, Káno. Neither of us have given you gifts of marriage yet. You might find your favorite chair replaced with a throne, decor be damned.”

Now Glorfindel coughed  _ and _ nodded, smiling all the way. “Just ask your brother,” he finally spoke. “We are most impudent subjects.”

“Oh, my brother,” laughed Fingon, though he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “You do realize, by marriage, he is also your brother now.”

“Wait--what?” Glorfindel said, eyes opening wide. “Oh. Oh, my. Oh dear...oh no. Does this mean I have to be nice to Indis?”

“Technically, Grandma Indis is your Great-grandmother, so… that is your call.  I think Erestor just gets to keep up the hate-hate relationship with her on principle.”  Fingon looked quite pleased with himself. “Who wants to be the one to tell Ereinion he has two step-fathers?  Actually, two additional step-fathers, since his mother did eventually marry someone else.”

“Who will tell Angrod and all your side of the family that we are just one big happy group, Fin?” Erestor quipped.

“It would appear we have many social demands to fulfil,” Glorfindel mused. “But not before we enjoy this for a few days. I can think of something else we have not yet done. I want all three of us to love each other. Maybe not today, but sometime. It feels like the way we should fully consummate our union.” Hugging both his partners tightly, he wriggled closer to them.

“I vote for today,” spoke up Fingon.  “Unless you were serious about the throne, in which case, kings get to proclaim things, and I would just make it an official event,” he said, only half joking.

“Down, boy,” Erestor drawled, kissing him on the nose. “Fin wants to finish making his dish from last night. I am going to do whatever your Highness tells me to. And then after that we are going to eat. Unless of course your Highness wants not to eat, in which case I am your most humble servant.”

“Technically, ‘highness’ is for princes, and ‘majesty’ is for kings,” pointed out Fingon.  “Also, consummation with a king would not be done with a mere servant, humble or otherwise, which makes both of you ‘your highness’, because you would be princes, except I did insist that my wife, during that period, was referred to as queen and not princess, so I really should insist that both of you be elevated to king status, except then I feel one or both of you might challenge me far too often for my liking--”

Erestor leaned forward and kissed him aggressively, thrusting his tongue into the sweet--but garrulous--mouth. If Fingon’s lips had this much energy, he had someplace better to channel that fervor. A quick mental exchange with Glorfindel freed the blond to make his way toward a pair of pants and the kitchen, but not before a loving pat and one last kiss to Fingon’s rump had been delivered. “I shall cook,” he announced, weaving his way out of the room while encouraging noises were heard. “And so will they,” he said to himself alone, with a big smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an Oscar Wilde quote.


	3. But we loved with a love that was more than love.

Fingon peered into the bowl. “That is a lot of beets,” he ruminated, bringing up a forkful. “And do not say ‘I told you so. Even if you did tell me so.”

“What?” Erestor asked. “I did not say a word. I did not even roll my eyes!”

“Yes but you were thinking it,” Fingon pointed out. “You were thinking it  _ and _ you did not censor your thought or keep it from me. Therefore you were most definitely saying it.”

“Káno has a valid observation,” Glorfindel smirked.

Erestor paused in his searching out the croutons, which he busily ate first. “This honesty business is not easy for me,” he noted sadly, just as his face brightened again to find a particularly well-herbed-and-buttered crouton. “That sounds terrible, saying it aloud, and I promised to do better. I confess. Guilty.”

“Also valid,” admitted Fingon.  “We should be encouraging honesty.  You may regale me with your ‘I told you sos’,” he permitted.

“I would rather soliloquize on the nature of beets and chard and how next time we plant multigerm seeds we will sprout the damn things in the greenhouse first and not end up pissing red for a month,” Erestor grumbled.

“Pissing red is still preferable to shitting green,” piped up Fingon.

“I could build a sprouting box with multiple cells,” Glorfindel proposed, rubbing his stubbly chin. “You have talked about the usefulness of having one for quite some time, and I have an idea for an easily cleaned, reusable and simple to work with unit. Who knows, if you approve maybe they will also be a thing I can sell at the market; you are not the only gardeners on this island.”

Erestor appeared hopeful. “It would save a lot of wasted time, you know,” he encouraged. “Planting only seeds that germinate makes for much more orderly rows and better spacing, because as we are seeing, thinning is...thinning does…”

“We piss red,” Fingon concluded, spearing another four beets with his utensil.  “Now, if only we could find a food that made us piss blue, we could eat them together and piss purple instead.  I would find that amusing.”

“Thankfully, nothing comes to mind,” Glorfindel said, arching an eyebrow. “I like color as much as the next person but not in my chamber pot, thank you so much.”

“Alright, but hear me out,” said Fingon in his ‘I am plotting something’ voice.  “What if we could find something, and then, when it gets cold, and it snows, we keep some of this stuff on hand-- beets can be pickled, for example-- and then we can festively write our names in the snow.  I think the different colors would make it very fancy.” Somehow, he managed a straight face the entire time he spoke, waving his fork around with a single beet upon it like a scepter, taking a bite out of it as soon as he finished.

No one said anything for a moment. Glorfindel and Erestor stared at each other. Appalled, amused, intrigued, quizzical, unbelieving--all those impressions hovered and flitted by, like so many hummingbirds. “So,” Glorfindel ventured. “I think the conclusion is, we love that you said that, and cannot believe you said that, in equal measure.”

Erestor’s dark head nodded in sanguine agreement. “Yes. Exactly. But then I remember that costume I wore that was only paint and am not certain I have any moral ground from which to proceed.”

Glorfindel was about to add in his own observation when he remembered something and smiled. “Oh,  _ that _ night. You recall the paint and I remember fucking you in the grass. Priorities,” he grinned.

Fingon groaned in the back of his throat, shook his head, and closed his eyes.  “I just have to tell you, it took so much self control not to pounce on one or both of you that week.  That was the worst teasing in my entire life,” he said. “I just… I wanted to lick your throat,” he told Erestor, pointing his fork at him.  “I could smell those flavors of paint, and all of the preparations I helped with… that was really hard to force myself not to say something. And you,” Fingon said, poking the fork in Glorfindel’s direction now, “were so sexy in that outfit, that I really just wanted to help you remove in a dark room somewhere.  So you ended up making love in the grass in the woods?” he asked wistfully.

“I recall it being a little different,” Glorfindel said. “At least one of the times I am not sure ‘making love’ was the word. ‘Jealous, domineering sex’ might be a better description for what played out. I cannot even remember what the problem was,” he admitted. “Maybe I have just blocked it out.”

“Probably just me being an asshole again,” Erestor stated without much hesitation.  “I cannot quite recall what was going on, either, except I was probably trying to make a point or was being stubborn or something and not listening to you.  It is ironic, when I consider that while I can give others great advice, I give myself terrible advice.”

“Do you still have the recipe for that paint, by chance?” Fingon casually asked.

“I am a painter,” Glorfindel answered, blurting it out before he realized how that sounded. “I mean, yes, I do. Forgive my first answer, I did not think.”

“Well,” said Fingon as he finished his remaining beets, “should you find yourself in need of an additional canvas, let me know.”

“That sounds a lot more like, you would very much like to be a canvas,” Glorfindel mused, already pondering the possibilities.

Erestor crossed his legs, wanting to finish lunch. “Can we talk about something else? I would like to eat before I am irreversibly aroused.”

“Sorry,” Fingon sheepishly replied as he set his bowl down.  “Um…” He scratched his head, and then laughed. “I think I am hopeless to come up with a conversation topic right now.  All I can think of is that night at that festival thing. Whatever it was. I honestly cannot remember what the event was for.  I was only there because Turgon encouraged me to go. He kept me from becoming a complete hermit.”

“I am sorry that we could not respond to you, all those years ago,” Glorfindel said. “I know that I already felt insecure enough. Had I allowed myself to notice your ardor, I am afraid I would not have reacted well. At least, that is what I think would have happened.”

“My goodness, I doubt I was making any overt overtures at that point,” said Fingon.  “In fact, I hope I was being covert in whatever my thoughts were. There were a lot of things I wanted to say and do over the years, but I held myself in check.”

“Whereas I did not, with my highly inappropriate flirting around any and all young ellith, and I caused Fin a great deal of pain.” Erestor paused. “I am so sorry for what I did to you, Fin. I have said in the past that I am sure I did many awful things to you, but I have never come out and directly apologized for this, when I should have done so a long time ago.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said quietly. “Even now...that means something to me, because at the time it did hurt.” He took a deep breath and released it before speaking further. “Ress, I have never asked you why. If there was a reason. I wanted to, so many times, but I knew that if I did chances were you would refuse to answer or say something that might make me feel worse.  I wondered so often, what I had done wrong. Why I was not enough for you--”

Erestor laid a hand on top of Glorfindel’s arm. “Stop, Fin.” The deep brown eyes met their colorful counterparts, full of contrition. “There was a reason, but at that time I could not have admitted it to myself. It was what had been done to me. At that place,” he explained sadly. “I was at war with myself. Finally I had cast off the chains enough to be with you, to accept a male as my mate in marriage. But my waking mind could not fully embrace a basic truth. Some part of me wanted to believe that I was still heterosexual. I mean, maybe I always have had some measure of sexual attraction toward females? Yet that did not change that I am a homosexual. That I have always been, a homosexual. So many feelings of shame and denial, and no one better at deceiving me than...me. This was not and never will be an excuse, I--”

“Ress, stop.” Glorfindel’s hand cupped Erestor’s cheek. “I forgive you. I always have. I thought this might have had something to do with it, after what you told us, but I think I needed to hear it from you. Not to make you feel worse but because I needed to know if I could have done anything differently.”

“No,” Erestor answered. “I made such a mess. I will ever bear the shame of it.”

“Please do not talk like that,” Glorfindel said. “Or I will feel like I cannot ask you things.”

“No. I do not mean it like that. It is what I said earlier, Fin, about needing to experience all those things so I would not be like my father. I want my shame. Not to beat myself around the head with it, but so that I do not forget. The only redress I can offer you is to do better now. Be a better husband to you both. Anything that motivates my feet to keep to the path on which they belong, I welcome as a guide to my conscience.”

“A foundation for a new resolve,” murmured Fingon, who felt moved despite not having been party to any of this. “That is taking a negative and turning it into something very positive, and applies equally to me. Thank you for speaking so openly, cupcake. This helps.”

A happy smile came to Erestor. “Then I am glad. But to finish what I was saying to Fin...I cannot promise you that I never will err. But the difference is, should I somehow slip into my old ways, I would be cut to the heart to be made aware of my behavior. Not flippantly obtuse, as I was back then. What we have is sacred to me. Holy. I am not for any others except the two of you. Currently, I am at a loss as to how I can have this find its full expression, but my heart wants to seek that. If ever a word or action of mine makes you the least uncomfortable--either of you--I beg you to tell me, for I will listen and make correction immediately.”

Glorfindel reached with his spare hand to smooth the glossy, inky hair he had always admired, before bending to kiss the hand that held his. “Who are you and where is Erestor?” he teased gently, gaining a smile from his partner.

“I deserve that, and many more like it.” Erestor shook his head--but in humor, not sorrow.

“Come here to me,” Glorfindel asked, scooting closer to Erestor in order to hold him. “I appreciate your words. You have made me feel very loved. Wanted. That is all I ever wished for, and I acknowledge your great courage and the progress you have made. I love you, Ress.”

“Group beet hug!” Fingon declared, pushing his plate aside to join them.  “We need dessert,” he announced after he took note that neither of them had finished their meal, yet he had some time ago.  “I will be right back,” he said as he headed for the door that would lead him down to the lower levels where their stock of preserved food was kept.  He returned after a few minutes with a jar of peaches, a tin of pecans, the small pitcher of cream kept in the deepest, coldest part of the sub basement, and a bottle of bourbon.  These were set on the counter as he gathered a few other staples from the kitchen. “I have a great idea, and this is experimental, but I hope it works,” he said more to himself than his companions as he fished a cast iron skillet out of the cabinet.

“Peaches and bourbon are by default a great idea,” Glorfindel opined, catching sight of the ingredients. “It is as if Eru created them for each other.”

“Fin, I somehow do not believe Eru created bourbon,” Erestor corrected.

“Well then he gave us the intelligence to figure out how to distill it, which is the same thing. Either way, I shall offer Him my thanks when I eat the dessert. And right now I feel like you need cheering up.” Glorfindel quickly straddled Erestor, bringing a plate with him. He forked a beet between his teeth, and held it there. Suggestively, his tongue darted out from each side in a sensual manner, curling around the little vegetable.

“You know I cannot resist that.” Erestor’s breathing increased in pace, as his lips met Glorfindel’s to gently prise loose the little tidbit.

“Mmmm,” Glorfindel answered, pressing his groin firmly into Erestor’s. “You were not meant to.”

With a quick glance at what was happening on the other side of the kitchen, Fingon pulled a bowl from the shelf and poured cream into it.  “Out of curiosity, what is your one-day record? For… you know, lovemaking,” he said, his second sentence almost a rush.

“Oh!” Glorfindel exclaimed, temporarily leaving off his seductions. “That is, hmmm.”

“Erm...” added in Erestor, frowning.

“Did we even count, on the night of our true binding, in Rivendell? I remember that we literally fucked until we could not move a muscle.”

“Right, there was that. That had to have been at least eight, do you think?”

“I thought I remembered more like nine or eleven.” Glorfindel smiled fondly. “That really was quite a session,” he reminisced. “We fucked ourselves into a total stupor.”

“It was worth it,” Erestor agreed. “But back to the question, did we ever exceed that?”

“Uhm...well…? I actually do not think so,” Erestor said. “After that we sort of had to give it a rest and I think that may also have been thousands of years of pent-up desire. Why do we not go with ten. Ten is a nice round number.”

“Ten it is,” Glorfindel agreed, now looking back up at Fingon. “Ten.”

“Ten.”  Fingon’s voice was a combination of awe and deep concern.  “I guess some records are meant to be left unbroken.” He turned back to his culinary experiment and began to caramelize the peaches and pecans.  “Ten,” he said to himself again in disbelief. He opened the bottle of bourbon, stared at the skillet for a minute, then drank directly from the bottle.

“We are not that bad,” Glorfindel fretted. “Are we?” A sigh escaped him. “I know that my penis has made far too many of my life’s decisions for me, Káno, though I have resisted reflecting on that. I read something once that said an excess of sexual desire is really an attempt to make up for a lack of love and affection from a trusted parental figure. Maybe I just was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean, that is true about me, I know it is. I wanted to hope that I am not...abnormal more than I already am.”

“What?  No… that was not why I was asking,” admonished Fingon, who had since taken another swig from the bottle.  “You know how competitive I am, so I was trying to construct a game plan to… test my skills, but I think I will have to yield on this one.  You will just need to keep it a secret that I am not able to win at everything.”

“It was never a contest,” Glorfindel smiled, adding another beet to his mouth to offer Erestor.

It was obligingly taken, before his hands were captured. “Please, no more beets. I am going to turn red, I swear. I will wait for the peaches.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t radishes,” Glorfindel acquiesced, using his position to kiss Erestor once more. Grabbing the black hair unexpectedly, he tugged Erestor’s head back to expose his neck and began nibbling. “You need to hope Káno hurries, for I feel like having appetizers.”

“Oh, sure,” teased Fingon.  “He gets to arouse you with his beets, but I start to talk about the artistry of edible paint, and I get told to stop it.  I see how it is,” he said. He took another gulp from the bottle before he used it in the dessert he was making.

“They were actually your beets,” noted Erestor. “But if paint is more interesting to you, it is certainly open for discussion. Mostly we were capitalizing on the instant gratification of the beets, whereas the paints would have to be sourced for the right ingredients and mixed and...and…”

“And applied,” smirked Glorfindel, kissing his way up the creamy throat. “I know what I would most like to paint.”

“I know what this reminds me of,” Fingon said as he flipped the peaches to keep them from burning.  “The tortoise and the hare. Except, there are two hares, both jumping around all over the place, taking cues from each other I do not even catch until ‘surprise, seduction!’ is occuring, while here I am, slow and steady with a goal in mind, plodding along until I get there.  I suppose that works for the rest of it, too… I mean, how often do tortoises even mate? Whereas rabbits… we had a pair of rabbits, once,” continued Fingon. “We had a pair, and we were told they were both male, and then it was a few months down the road, and we had over two dozen and my mother made us give them all away.  Of course, this means all of those rabbits were interbreeding, which probably led to our family’s complete acceptance of cousins being with cousins.” He moved back to the bowl where he had been whipping the cream. “This needs more sugar,” he told himself.

“I do not think we are quite like rabbits,” Erestor opined, though his breathing had increased in pace. “At least we stop for meals.”

“Ress, what are we doing right now?” Glorfindel queried.

“Oh. True. Well, fuck.”

“Exactly.” Glorfindel rolled his eyes, then helped himself to one good bite right at the crook of Erestor’s neck, before releasing him and kissing the top of his head.

“I have it on good authority that the table over there is very sturdy,” said Fingon in a very calm monotone.  “There was butter downstairs…”

“Was that an invitation?” Glorfindel wanted to know.

Erestor perked up visibly. “It certainly sounded like an invitation. Perhaps even with hints of provocation.”

“I am about ready to make an invocation.”   
  


“For a convocation?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered. “But I will not want there to be any equivocation. Nor revocation.”

“I only suggested familiarization and unification.”  Fingon rooted around in the pantry as he spoke, and pulled out a bottle of oil, which he walked to the table and set dead center before gathering up all of the plates, bowls, and silverware to take them back to be cleaned. “I am going to call you my lovebunnies from now on,” he added as he walked away.

Glorfindel approached Fingon, uncertain what he wished. The thoughts he could hear were quite a jumble amidst the usually ordered workings of his new husband’s mind. At first he thought to ask what was envisioned, but then wondered if they were meant to start by themselves, so to speak. “I am going to get a cloth for the table,” he announced. “Sanitation, and all.”

Erestor took the hint and began to slowly disrobe. Very slowly.

“Good idea,” agreed Fingon, who was still mainly focused on his cooking.  “This might be good over a shortcake,” he decided suddenly, and another bowl was brought down from the cabinet.  Additional ingredients were soon organized on the counter, and he returned to the skillet intermittently to check on the progress of his boozy peaches.

“Could I have a kiss?” Erestor asked Fingon timidly while fingering a button, as he waited for Glorfindel to return, not wanting to ruin the food.

The expression on Fingon’s face as he froze and looked across the room without moving the rest of his body was akin to a deer caught in a glade surrounded by hunters.  “Do you want me to come over there or are you coming over here?” he asked, words flowing together as if it was just a single multisyllabic reply. His hand, holding the wooden spoon, hovered over the skillet, while his other gripped the handle, wrapped in a towel, so tightly his knuckles were discolored.

For an answer, Erestor silently paced across the floor, looking downward most of the way. Coming near, he rose on his toes, offering only his cheek, and not touching any part of his husband. “I love you,” he said softly.

Fingon swallowed hard and darted his tongue between his lips before he brushed them over the soft skin.  He started to withdraw, but as soon as his eyes met Erestor’s, he let go of both the spoon and the rag, and at once had Erestor in his arms, his mouth hungrily kissing a path down Erestor’s neck, from just beneath his earlobe to his collarbone.  “How do the two of you do this to me?” he demanded as he crossed over Erestor’s throat, catching that alluring adam’s apple to suckle it before he moved to the opposite shoulder and up again, only to fervently kiss Erestor’s lips. He ignored the dog, who ran in seemingly from nowhere, to snatch up the spoon from the floor and run off with it to some unknown den in the vast cottage.  “Glorfindel better get back soon, or tablecloth be damned.”

A hungry groan escaped Erestor’s mouth; so unexpected was this. “I did not mean to do anything,” he gasped through his rising arousal. “I only wanted you to know you are loved.”

The Glorfindel in question did indeed reappear, equally surprised at the sight greeting his eyes. No time was wasted unfurling the cloth and spreading it over the table. The spoon was perhaps about to be a casualty, but he could and did remove the skillet from the heat, gauging that the ingredients could be cooked more later but certainly would not improve by being burnt to a cinder. Then he did the only sensible thing in his mind; he tugged the ties on his pants loose, and felt them slither down to his ankles. He could whittle a new spoon tomorrow.

“Oh, I know how loved I am,” said Fingon as he pulled the rest of Erestor’s clothing from him, pausing each time he revealed a limb to either kiss and nuzzle an arm or wrap his leg behind Erestor’s to caress him.  “I know how blessed I am, too.” With Erestor now naked before him, he pressed forward with one hand against Erestor’s back and the other holding his chin. “I still wish I knew what sort of spell you cast upon me, but I find myself your willing victim as of late.”  He kissed Erestor again, then turned him in the direction of the table with a swat to his rear. “Now where did my other naughty husband go…?”

“I am right here,” Glorfindel smiled, with said naughtiness tenting his tunic.

Slowly, Fingon turned around.  “There you are.” Fingon tossed his apron onto the counter and pulled his shirt over his head, only to drop it on the floor.  He used the back of his hand to stroke Glorfindel’s cheek several times. “I adore you,” he whispered. He leaned in to bump his nose against Glorfindel’s nose.  “You are my sunshine,” he said before he brushed his lips over Glorfindel’s, then embraced him tightly, only momentarily surprised by what bumped into him as he did so.  He took hold of Glorfindel’s hand and walked him to the table to Erestor. “Where to begin...”

“Right where we left off,” suggested Glorfindel.  Erestor was sitting on the edge of the table when the other two elves approached.  Glorfindel let go of Fingon’s hand and stepped behind him. Stretching on the tips of his toes, Glorfindel flicked his tongue against the lobe of Fingon’s ear while coaxing him to remove his pants and undergarment..  This had the desired effect of weakening Fingon’s knees enough so that Glorfindel could whisper into his ear, “Long has Erestor feared that your encounter with him here, in this very spot, was a one-time affair. Prove him wrong, Kano.  Show him how much you truly lust for him.”

When Glorfindel’s tongue met the back of Fingon’s ear, he had not only become weak in the knees, but also reached out to grab hold of Erestor’s knees to steady himself.  Now his hands traveled up firm thighs, then back down again. Once his hands were firmly upon Erestor’s knees, he yanked them apart and stepped into the space he made with a feral look on his face.  As Erestor closed his eyes and groaned, hardening almost immediately, Fingon drew in Erestor’s scent, from his chest up to his throat, and behind his ear, twisting around to bite insistently at Erestor’s neck.  Another hard nip caught the tip of Erestor’s ear and he gasped and grabbed for Fingon’s hips. One hand was slapped away, and after that came a command from Fingon: “Lie down.” Erestor hurriedly complied. 

Behind Fingon, Glorfindel groaned.  “This is going to be an incredibly good day.”

Fingon executed a pirouette which resulted in having Glorfindel in his arms being soundly kissed.  He sniffed at Glorfindel much in the same way he had done to Erestor, but stopped short of using his teeth.  He nosed at Glorfindel’s ear, and purred at him, “I want you…”

“Yes?” panted Glorfindel, fingers kneading Fingon’s shoulders.

A teasing tongue traced around the curve of Glorfindel’s ear, and he dragged his teeth along the sensitive skin before he added in a growling tone, “I want you to fuck me hard, Fin.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yessss,” Glorfindel answered, tilting his head back as Fingon kissed along his throat and nuzzled his chin.  “Ugh, I should have shaved this morning,” he scolded himself as he felt Fingon nosing at the coarse hairs.

“Leave it,” whispered Fingon, tickling Glorfindel’s flesh.  Fingon, on the other hand, had shaved after he made it out of bed, which now allowed Glorfindel the ability to rub his hand over Fingon’s smooth face.  “I like your beard. So sexy.” From behind him, Fingon heard Erestor whimper, and he gave Glorfindel one final peck on the cheek. “Excuse me. I have other business to attend to,” he said, and moved away back to the table.

Glorfindel stared at Fingon’s back, his own erection, the table, his erection, the oil, Fingon’s back, the sight of Erestor, and back to the oil. A plan formed.  _ A good scientist always has a working hypothesis _ , he thought to himself. First he oiled his arousal, then the fingers of one hand. Then, he drizzled a modest amount into his open mouth, experimentally coating his lips. Satisfied, he used his calves to push Fingon’s legs demandingly wide apart, before kneeling down to test out his ideas.

“Holy shit, Fin!”  Fingon, who had been trying to decide how to best begin his intentions, now found himself clinging to the sides of the table, crushed upon Erestor, whose expression was part surprise and part amusement.

Erestor dragged his fingers through Fingon’s hair as his mate cried out, contorted, and fought to keep his footing.  “I have no idea what is going on right now, but I think I want what he is having,” he joked loud enough to ensure Glorfindel, wherever he was, could hear.

If either of them could have seen it, they would have found a completely wicked grin on Glorfindel’s usually innocent and sweet face. He spread Fingon apart with his hands; kneading, massaging, probing, until he seemed satisfied with his target. With no warning, his mouth and tongue found Fingon’s entrance and pushed in as hard as he could, seeking to send as much oil into whatever useful places it might seep. In the event that might not be enough, his hands transferred to hold Fingon’s hips in a powerful grip while he hummed and moaned to cause vibration. Definitely, he hoped that the request was made in sincerity because it was assuredly being fulfilled in that fashion.

All Fingon seemed able to do at the moment was hold onto the table for support and hope he was not ruining the moment for Erestor.  “Sorry… useless… right now,” was all he managed to get out. In his attempt to seduce his lovers, Fingon forgot a very important fact: They had centuries of additional experience in teasing each other, and it was obvious now that those skills were being called upon in excess.  He whimpered as he felt pleasures so foreign yet so welcomed. In his head, it had all been very simple, that he would make love to Erestor while Glorfindel joined them. Now other images swirled in his mind, and while he had trouble stating his desires, he knew that he could not guard his thoughts.  If there had not been a concern that he might injure Glorfindel by changing position, he would have been down on his knees, back sloped, hugging the floor, and begging for something mere days earlier he would have avoided at all costs.

As suddenly as it began, Glorfindel’s ministrations ceased. “That was a little taste,” he explained, purring and still massaging with his hands. “But I must now allow you some time with Erestor. Do not go anywhere,” he demanded, placing soft kisses on Fingon’s sacs while he stealthily rose back to a standing position.

“I think I forgot how to stand,” mumbled Fingon, chest heaving.  Slowly, however, he did straighten up, and his hand trembled as he reached for the bottle of oil.  

“Mmmm should I remind you, husband? But, no. Not now. I want to watch you take that beautiful, sexy man that is laid out on that table for you. Do not forget to spank him a little.” Glorfindel all but stood on the tips of his toe bones, in order to reach Fingon’s ear and give it a luxuriant suckle before dropping back to the soles of his feet. And then he thought about toe shoes, like for ballet. Hmmmm.

“He is very beautiful,” agreed Fingon as he regained his composure and poured oil into his palm.  “And extremely sexy.” Fingon rubbed his hands together once the oil was set aside. He used his slick fingers to massage Erestor’s legs, from his knees up to his pelvis, and every now and then, he would let a few digits wander, sometimes between Erestor’s legs behind his scrotum, and other times around to squeeze his rear.  When the oil seemed to absorb or spread too thin, Fingon poured more oil into his palm and coated his hands again. This time, he took hold of the tablecloth and pulled it slowly over the edge, moving Erestor closer, until he was positioned perfectly for preparation. Fingon made eye contact with Erestor before he rubbed the first finger over his entrance.  “Tell me when you are ready for more,” he said in a huskier than normal voice.

“An hour ago?” Erestor said, chest rising and falling. He wanted to touch so many things, and wondered what he could manage to do without disturbing Fingon. His left hand began to creep forward toward Fingon’s leg.

“None of that,” Glorfindel told him. “Or I shall find the spatula?”

“He… he can touch me if he wants to,” said Fingon as he saw where Erestor intended to go, with none more surprised than him at his words.  “Here.” He took hold of Erestor’s wrist and positioned his lover’s hand so that it was close to his impressive length. “Is that…” He swallowed hard.  “Is that what you were looking for?” he asked, his voice quavering.

Erestor nodded, eyes wide. His hand actually trembled, reaching for the shaft. Hesitating, he looked up once more at Fingon to be absolutely sure. So long, he had waited for this; he was not about to make a mistake out of carelessness now.

Fingon gave a nod, keeping one hand upon Erestor’s thigh.  He released Erestor’s wrist, and with his now free hand returned to his earlier preparations.  Using two fingers, he stroked them up and down against the puckered skin which would give way to that delightful passage he was learning so much about.  He poked at it after every other stroke, not yet committing to entry, waiting to see what Erestor’s next move would be -- and of course, still aware of Glorfindel’s presence behind him.

Hardly believing he had been invited to do this, Erestor’s finely shaped fingers slowly curled around Fingon’s arousal, tightening in the end to give a light squeeze. Then the exploration continued--tentatively, because at any moment he expected to be asked to stop or to see his partner’s body tense in sudden discomfort. The edge of his hand slid to the root, where it measured girth. Fingers that lightly feathered against impossibly smooth skin stroked their path back upward, noting every miniscule contour. One clever digit then curled underneath the glans, rubbing just a little against where the missing foreskin once anchored--while a thumb carefully probed the opening. He smiled, when he felt the slippery pre-ejaculate flowing, and teasingly spread it around the head and just under the sensitive edges. Erestor then withdrew his hand, closing his eyes in order to memorize what he had just experienced, in case it never happened again.

There was considerable heat in the room, or perhaps it just felt that way.  Fingon found he was not parsing out his moves with his typical logical nature, but instead, just allowed himself to do whatever felt right.  Like dancing. Like music. He remembered that thought from the last time he stood in this place. His fingers played Erestor’s body like he would his harp, both fast and slow, but precise no matter what sound he hoped to produce.  Slow moans to higher pitched cries of pleasure, he was mesmerized at how similar it truly was. 

Now he was plunging in deeper, two fingers, setting a rhythm before he cautioned himself that it was not his fingers that Erestor ultimately wanted within.  Fingon withdrew gently, as if ending the piece he had been playing, only to reposition himself for the next act. Fingon began to open his mouth, seeking permission, when one look into Erestor’s eyes told him he had it, would always have it, and it humbled him, to be with one so trusting and loving.  He positioned his head at the well-prepared entrance and slid in without hesitation. His eyes closed as he was fully sheathed, and he kept his body still, but reached out, eyes still closed, and willed his fingers to curl around Erestor’s erection. It was far different than Glorfindel felt in his palm -- Erestor was longer, not as thick, and more textured.  Fingon knew he should do more than hold Erestor, and so he stroked, similar to how Erestor had held him, his thumb rubbing the smooth, rounded head.

Erestor’s eyes opened wider than saucers.  _ You do not have to do that,  _ slipped out in thought, causing him to comically clap his hand over his mouth. He gazed on Fingon with worry and a little fear, but saw only love and reassurance in return. Willing himself to relax, he did his best to remain in the moment, surrendering to the unexpected sensations. Vocal sounds he had not known he could produce erupted from him, along with three other words: “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” tumbled from Fingon’s lips, his eyes remaining closed as he began to ease in and out, his hand sliding up and down at the same pace.  It was more than rutting; he rolled his hips and managed perfect timing with his touches. 

Glorfindel sensed it was an appropriate time to renew his assault, but with more refinement than earlier. Tongue and fingers recommenced teasing Fingon (much as Fingon had teased Erestor), but more than anything he observed, flowing along in the stream of shared thought with his husbands.

One of the things that continued to bother Fingon was the odd facial expressions he caught himself inadvertently making.  So far, no one else had said anything, so he expected that either his spouses did not notice or did not care, but he made a note to work on the fact that right now, his jaw was slack, his tongue pressed against his top teeth, and his lips… well, they continued to assist in the creation of noises he did not know anyone could make.  He shook the thought away for now, for the desire was building and pushing all other irrelevant thoughts from his mind. Over his shoulder to Glorfindel he said, “Maybe… wait on the fucking… just make love to me tonight…”

“As you wish, love,” Glorfindel said, instinctively wrapping his arm lightly around Fingon’s waist, and melding his hips against Fingon’s. Swiftly he mastered the rhythm of the motion, and simply waited for a good place in the tempo to begin joining his partner. It felt like dancing, and it was very good. Sensual. Happy, the blond followed Fingon’s lead flawlessly.

For the first time since entering Erestor, Fingon turned his head and opened his eyes.  It was funny how foreplay with his husbands now brought out a very demanding and animalistic side, but as soon as he joined with one of them, it was all exchanged for sweet sensuality.  Fingon stretched in an attempt to kiss Glorfindel while still keeping contact with Erestor. It was time to find out what would happen if he was joined with them both at the same time. “I am ready for you,” he whispered to Glorfindel.  His own words made him tremble.

One final stretching with his fingers ended, only to be supplanted by Glorfindel’s arousal. He really did not have to do anything except be still at the right moments; Fingon’s own motions took him in. The only concern Glorfindel had was to slowly advance at just the right intervals--something he enjoyed far too much. Groaning with delight, he pressed in until he was fully buried inside his lover. Rising up on his toes adjusted his angle, until he was pleasuring the general area he wished to, if his partner’s sudden eruption of positive sounds was any indication. He fully intended to work on the ears a little, but not just now. In a bit. That and, he wished he was taller.

“I swear to Eru, Glorfindel, if you touch my ears, I will explode,” panted Fingon as he picked up the errant thought.  It was hard for Fingon to know whether he had just issued a warning or an invitation. His eyelids drooped again; he could concentrate better on the feeling and movements without the visual distractions.  It also meant not seeing anyone’s penis, which was how he was still able to keep his fingers gliding up and down the stiff shaft that Erestor had presented to him.

“I will keep that in mind,” a voice from behind said, laden with mischief and obviously radiating self-satisfaction. “Mmmm. Then again, part of me wants this to last. I want you to enjoy this so much you need help to walk afterwards. What do you think, Ress?”

“Think?” Erestor echoed haplessly. “WhaaannHHHHHnnnn?”

“Ohhh. It is one of those encounters,” Glorfindel told Fingon. “This is very good. When he cannot speak, it is the highest form of compliment to your lovemaking,” Glorfindel pointed out smugly.

Just hearing the words and the affirmation of what they were doing brought Fingon closer to the edge.  “You like this, do you, Eres?” he asked as he moved his hands so that he could pull Erestor slightly up from the table, giving him slightly deeper access than he previously had.  Fingon himself groaned in answer. “Yes… that is very good,” he managed. He paused only a moment, moving his feet apart just a little, which he knew without actually knowing would give Glorfindel better access, that he was spreading himself wider, and he was now angled so that he was sure he was hitting that sweet spot within Erestor, the same one he knew, just knew, Glorfindel would be able to reach inside of him now.

“Ahh thank you,” Glorfindel grinned, caressing his lover’s chest and belly. “Next time I want a step stool. Now allow me to reward your courtesy.” Finally Glorfindel could tilt himself downward a little, to effectively stroke the upper portion (at least, from this angle) of Fingon’s passage. The uninhibited cry of delight encouraged the blond to pump furiously at the tiny spot, lighting the nerves afire. He wanted Fingon to feel good--so good.

Fingon no longer needed to rock his hips.  The movement from Glorfindel succeeded in pushing Fingon forward, to the benefit of both himself and Erestor.  That spot, that tiny, blessed spot hidden inside, kept secret from him until a day ago, was the cause of the grunts and gasps, each louder than the last, and the reason he now had one hand on the table to steady himself.  Glorfindel expected him to need assistance walking -- Fingon was not sure he would even be able to stand on his own by the time they were done.

“Please,” begged Erestor. “At the edge. Please let me come.” Fingon’s motion had changed, and having paid no attention to anything but the pleasure inside of his slender frame, he worried Fingon had forgotten him when the stimulation slowed.

“Sorry.”  Fingon centered himself again, focusing on the task at hand.  He kept hold of the table, because he felt he was not all that far behind, and pulled his other hand from between the table and Erestor’s rear.  Once again, eyes closed, he took hold of the impressively hard muscle and worked his hand along the length, teasing the tip, then back down again to the base a half dozen times before really milking Erestor’s erection.  He found his rhythm again, and rocked, full-spirited, into Erestor. This meant a few times he nearly lost the connection with Glorfindel, but adjustments were made, and soon Glorfindel was closer to him as well, and all of the sensations built without dissipating.

A strangled, guttural noise tore from Erestor as his hands sought a purchase on Fingon’s body--followed by shouting “Káno!” at impressive volume. Writhing, he passed the point of no return. An involuntary arcing of his back drove Fingon even deeper inside of him, as his release spurted to land silvery droplets from his navel to just under his collarbones. So attuned to him was Glorfindel that he too found his climax, shuddering against Fingon’s back. It was the first time he had released his seed into his new husband’s body, and he cherished every moment of it. He knew from experience that all the encounters to follow might blur together, but this one would forever remain etched in his memory.

With a helpless whimper, Fingon tried to keep moving as he had been, but the sudden burst of energy from both of his mates at the same time was unexpected.  He could feel them both basking in the aftermath, but as for himself… he had no idea if he was even hard anymore, let alone exactly what he was doing at the moment.  He was sure he had another stupid look on his face, this one a look of frustration. He swallowed an irritated sigh and pleaded to Glorfindel. “Fin… I need…” But there it died on his lips, because he did not even know in the haze of thoughts, only a third of which were his, what he was asking for.

Glorfindel could sense the difficulty, as did Erestor. But as the golden-haired ellon was in far better condition to respond, he took the initiative. It would at least buy Erestor a few more seconds of bliss. Quickly slipping out, he returned his fingers to the well-lubricated passage, ever so gently stroking the diminutive gland. His free hand alternated between fondling the tempting sacs and kneading at the firm muscles of hips and buttocks, while liberally interspersing kisses. Just to be allowed to explore his previously reluctant love in this manner was new and still completely intoxicating.

With surprising agility, Erestor disconnected from Fingon and managed to tuck his legs underneath him. Now he could kneel on the table and easily reach Fingon’s face. Without hesitation he passionately kissed his love, pouring out gratitude for the pleasure he had been granted.  Hands knotted into the dark hair, fingers ghosted along the edges of ears, and rosy lips suckled the pale neck. Erestor feasted in order to sate a long-deferred hunger.

It seemed not all that long ago that the idea of having a lover patient and kind enough to take the time to understand his needs was unfathomable to Fingon.  That he was now blessed with two renewed his faith and made him feel more loved than he had in his entire life. The physical pleasure, however, was an even more unexpected part of this transition.  Sex, in general, was still something he felt he would wrinkle his nose at. Performing the act with his spouses, on the other hand, was something he knew would happen regularly now -- he could not deny that the sexual display had sparked his interest, and the touches had been a welcome part of the interaction.  His desire still confused him a little, but he was certain he wanted to do what he was doing in that moment, and was positive that erotic experimentation would follow in the future. Most of all, he had not anticipated just how spiritual the experience was. He had expected the intensity of their joining, but once the bond was formed, did not know that those feelings would manifest again, as they did now.

Every inch of his body was on fire, and the room felt like it was spinning.  Fingon already knew how truly sensitive his skin was, and found it hard to know where each noise he made started and ended, for it was a continuous expression of his clear enjoyment of the situation.  As Erestor touched his ears, Fingon was reminded of the night of passion they shared, and how he feared it would be the only memory he would have of a possible unattainable future. He knew his mates would know best how to unbridle his passion from the experience they had, but it did not stop him from suddenly pressing back against Glorfindel’s fingers, or to begin to beg in little mewls and sobs as Erestor’s fingers grazed his ears again.

“You remember,” Erestor whispered, whether into Fingon’s mind or aloud seemed uncertain. “Now I can do all the things I dreamed of then. What would have been sin is now sanctified, though the love I felt for you then was sincere. I want you back inside of me. I still want what you have to give. Take me and then cover your body with mine, so I can touch your ears.” Another passionate kiss sealed the request. With surprising elegance, Erestor returned to his original position, offering himself and beckoning with a sultry gaze. Behind them, Glorfindel hummed his approval, and reduced his ministrations enough to allow compliance with Erestor’s request.

Not a moment was wasted.  Fingon took a firm hold of Erestor’s hips and plunged into him with shocking accuracy.  His thrusts were quick and demanding as he bent in, leaned forward, anything to make sure Erestor could reach him.

_ Touch his nipples,  _ Glorfindel suggested in thought, assuming that Fingon really had no idea what Erestor’s body could manage.

“Not fair,” Erestor groaned aloud. At the moment, his focus was only on Fingon. “Fin, help me.”

Arching an eyebrow, Glorfindel stifled a laugh. Erestor needed a pillow in order to do as he wished, and none was near. Fortunately, no sacrifice was too great. A final caress was given to Fingon’s rear so that he could quickly move around to the table. Erestor rolled forward to make room underneath his shoulders, and in a fluid motion Glorfindel moved his torso to provide the needed support. Erestor gave a grunt of thanks, for now he could reach the coveted ears with room to spare. His fingertips caressed them--not just once here and there, but continually. “Come for me,” Erestor demanded, devouring every expression of Fingon’s passion.

While the thought supplied by Glorfindel was tempting, that he was the one buried within Erestor, and that Erestor was the one commanding him-- him, Fingon, the king, the one with ‘commander’ in his very name!-- was what sent him over the edge.  When had anyone ever offered him such sensual forcefulness while in such a compromising position? With teeth clenched, he worked every muscle he felt might have anything to do with reaching the height he desired, and he was not disappointed. He growled - or was it a roar?  It mattered little. He wanted both of them to know everything he felt, and no single word came close to the eruption of sound that issued forth as he released with several subsequent grunts following. There he stood but a moment as the last orgasmic wave subsided. Then he groaned, eyes closing, one hand back to the table to steady himself.  “Oh… oh, Eru… that was… ughhn.” He gave one last thrust before he slipped out, and then pulled Erestor back into a seated position, half to hold him, and half to keep from sliding down to his knees. Everything he had ever read in the damned Laws and Customs seemed short-sighted; that any union and the physical contact granted by it could be less than sacred seemed blasphemous.

Freed, Glorfindel rose and rearranged his body to sit behind Erestor, cuddling with both of them but also finding to his interest that the dark beauty had not become visibly aroused a second time--which was just as well. One arm wrapped around Erestor while the other reached to caress Fingon. Sighing contentedly, for a moment he rested his head against Erestor’s back, vaguely wondering if Fingon would indeed be able to walk.

“Nope,” answered Fingon.  He was still getting used to figuring out what was meant for him and what was meant for Erestor, but that comment tickled his mind and seemed to be more general in nature.  He did not stay on his feet much longer, either, and carefully lowered himself down to his knees. As he crossed his arms over Erestor’s legs while knelt on the floor before him, he finally caught his breath and said, “If we ever leave this place, we need to find a way to take this table with us.”

“Is it wrong that I want to carve tally marks into the side of it?” Glorfindel wondered idly. “Maybe we would be doing any future occupants a favor. I mean, imagine if they knew a relationship was consummated on it.”

“Mmmmm,” Erestor smiled, relaxing into Glorfindel’s arms. “I like the tally idea. Except not on the side. Starting from the middle, and maybe extending out in some kind of artful pattern, so that it ends up looking like a decorative accent. By the time a few hundred marks are there, it could be quite a conversation piece.”

“No… I like it how it is,” Fingon said as he now repositioned himself so he was sitting on the floor with an arm around a table leg.  He rested his cheek against the wood. “Maybe we could…” He stopped as he tilted his head and after a moment, ducked under the table.  “Um… I have news for both of you…”

“And that would be?” Glorfindel asked.

“We are not the first ones to, uh, utilize the table,” Fingon said as he now laid down under the table to examine the bottom of it, thankful that his desire for cleanliness meant he had mopped the floor earlier.  “There have to be at least thirty pairs of names carved into this thing. Initials for the less bold, I think. I guess this explains why it is bolted to the floor.”

“Oh!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “Oh, goodness. Well. That casts an entirely different light on the subject.”

“Forget the goodness,” Erestor said, launching upwards. “I have to see this.” With a quick kiss to Glorfindel, he stood up, only to press an arm against his chest and realize what was beginning to dry there. “I have to see this and then I think I need to bathe.” Lying next to Fingon, he chuckled. “We are definitely adding our initials. I refuse to be among the unnumbered.”

Next came Glorfindel. “This is wonderful. Maybe the table was calling us, and we did not know it. Think of the passion exchanged right here. The love. My heart feels warmed just to think on it.”

Fingon was busy scanning the names when his eyes suddenly widened for a moment.  He thrust his arm up and tapped a finger next to a very basic etching of a boat with Cirdan’s name and his wife’s initials on it.  “I mean… I have no idea why I am surprised… they have four children… they live on this island… and yet… this would be like finding out my grandfather…”  Fingon hurriedly checked all of the remaining names and sighed with relief. “Actually, no, finding my grandparents on here would be all kinds of worse.”

“Now now,” Glorfindel admonished. “Grandparents have sex too, and--” he cut himself short when a vision of Indis, Finwë and potato salad suddenly popped into his head. He found himself unable to continue, and yet rather intrigued.

“Fin!!” Erestor shouted, making little retching noises. “I swear, this food thing of yours goes too far sometimes.”

“What?” Glorfindel protested. “At least it is above average potato salad.” 

“Na Na Na Na Na Hot Pool Na Na Na Na Na” Erestor said loudly, plugging his ears while he scrambled out from under the table and out the door.

Glorfindel calmly looked at Fingon, stood, and offered his hand courteously. “I think he wants a towel. Shall we join him?”

“I hate that potato salad,” remarked Fingon instead.  “And now, whenever I see it, I will think about what you were just thinking about.  I guess we shall have to see if that makes family reunions better or worse.”

“Oh, the reunions!”  Glorfindel exclaimed.  “Well. That ought to be interesting.  Not only am I related by birth to the House of Finwe, but by marriage as well.”

“That makes two of us.  You are stuck with the family now,” declared Fingon as he took hold of Glorfindel’s hand.

“And I love you for it.” Instinctively he leaned in to hug Fingon. “I will get the towels, and then I want to hold your hand when we walk outside. I promise I will not mention potato salad again.”

“Oh, no, you can talk about it,” Fingon said as he snuggled Glorfindel and appreciated that he had someone to lean into, for his legs were still wobbly.  “I just hate that she uses bacon in it. And sour cream. And… actually, I pretty much hate everything except the potatoes. It ruins good potatoes.”

“I know what you mean. It is nothing like Erestor’s potatoes, when they are newly dug. They cook up so soft and creamy, and the flavor--even without butter. Mmmf. Ugh I have to stop talking about it, that actually made something in my mouth hurt to think about it. Towels!” Quickly he acquired three fluffy blue towels, and the pair walked to the pool. “Ress, I was just waxing poetic to Káno how good your little potatoes are.”

“One thing at a time, Fin. He can nibble on those during another encounter.”

“What are you talking about?”

Erestor blinked. “My--oh. You mean real potatoes. Er, sorry.”

Glorfindel looked at Fingon apologetically. “I would tell you we are not always like this, except we are.”

Fingon chuckled and kissed Glorfindel on the forehead.  “I doubt I would want it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title a quote by Edgar Allan Poe.


	4. Boys will be boys...

It was almost noon when Fingon stumbled down the stairs, naked, clearing his throat and rubbing his face.  He held the banister and took the steps one at a time with pauses, both of which were unusual for him. As he walked through the great room, where Erestor and Glorfindel were sitting, he lifted his hand and gave a little grunted greeting.

“Good morning, lover,” greeted Erestor.  He had been writing on a small scroll and lowered his quill as Glorfindel leaned forward to hide what they were doing.  

Fingon seemed not to notice as he managed a slightly hoarse, “Morning,” and continued on to the next room.  

Erestor picked up the quill to finish writing, then left the task of drying it with pounce to Glorfindel.  One of the adjoining rooms was used to place the laundry before it was put away, and this is where Erestor found Fingon, picking through items that were stacked on a bed they never used.  While Fingon shook out a pair of loose pants, Erestor came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, rubbing his cheek against Fingon’s back. That was when Erestor realized he should have been at the height to rub his cheek against Fingon’s shoulder.  “Did you…”

“Let me at least eat breakfast before we discuss my height.”  Fingon pulled on the pants, which left his ankle and part of the shin above exposed.  He turned so that he could embrace Erestor and easily kissed the top of Erestor’s head.  “As long as I can still make it through the doorways, I can cope.”

“Did you sleep well?” asked Erestor as Fingon selected a shirt from one of the piles.  “Glorfindel and I were up much earlier, but we thought you might appreciate a little extra rest.”

Fingon pulled the shirt over his head.  A muffled, “Sure,” came from him, but when he had the garment pulled on, Erestor caught sight of the pinkish tinge to his cheeks.

“You were sleeping up there, right?” Erestor followed Fingon out of the room, past Glorfindel in the great room, and out into the kitchen.  Momentarily, Erestor started to fret. “If you were awake, know that we did not mean to abandon you.”

Fingon stopped and turned around, with Erestor almost walking into him from how close he had been trailing.  Strong hands settled upon Erestor’s shoulders, and Fingon nuzzled the top of Erestor’s head. “I am really hungry,” he deflected, and now pulled together fruit, oats, and milk, and began to fix himself a quick breakfast.  He lifted the lid on the abandoned peach dish and frowned. “I need to try to revive that,” he said as he put the lid down and fetched the milk.

Erestor began to wring his hands.  “Are there… regrets?” He held his breath.

“What?  No…” Fingon set down the pitcher and turned his attention fully to Erestor.  “I…”

“Because I can understand if you are overwhelmed.  A lot has happened over the last two days--”

“Erestor.”  Fingon took a deep breath.  His face was further flushed, and he cleared his throat.  “I have no regrets. None at all. The binding between the three of us is exactly what I wanted.  I…” 

Erestor placed his hand upon Fingon’s back and soothingly rubbed in calming circles.  “Please, Fingon, you can tell me anything. What do you hesitate to share?”

“This is so stupid,” he mumbled to himself.  He sighed, found a point on the ceiling to stare at, and said, “I was up for at least an hour.  I woke up, and neither of you were there, and I…”

“You woke up horny,” accused Erestor, whose hand had stopped moving.

“Well-- you know, it was already hard, so--”

“And you did not call us to come up?”  Erestor’s exclamation alerted Glorfindel to something, and soon he was in the kitchen as well.  “Why would you not call for us?” Erestor turned to Glorfindel and said, “He woke up with an erection, and did not call us up.”

“Mmmnn.”  This little disappointed whine was all Glorfindel managed in response.

“Sorry,” apologized Fingon.  “I… it was more than that,” he admitted.  “I had some dreams about us, and I had to work through that, get it out of my head so to speak--”

“What kind of dreams?”  This came simultaneously from both of Fingon’s husbands, and Fingon bit his lip, face a lovely shade of magenta.  

Fingon turned back to his breakfast.  “I was just a little embarrassed by it,” he continued.  “The last time I woke up in that state, I was still sharing a room with Turgon, so that tells you how long it has been since I was in that predicament.”

“Oh, but what a lovely predicament to be in, and you must ask us for our assistance should it occur in the future.”  Erestor touched Fingon’s arm. “There is no reason to be embarrassed by what happened.”

“In fact,” piped up Glorfindel, “love in the morning is some of the best.  It gets hard all on its own, and sometimes, you just have to make love or give it a little rub to relieve it.”

“Yes, I… discovered that,” said Fingon.  He pressed at his cheek, but it made him blush no less.  He picked up his bowl, retrieved a spoon, and managed to get around both of his mates and back into the great room.

Glorfindel looked at Erestor and began to whisper, “Did he get ta--”

“Shh… he does not want to talk about that,” warned Erestor.  

“But he did, right?” questioned Glorfindel about the height of their husband.

Erestor nodded.  “Maybe this is his last, uh, growth spurt, though.  The first one happened when he and I made love, and the second time we did it did not affect him, so I think this should be it now?”  Erestor shrugged. “We should go after him, though… he still has some explaining to do…”

Glorfindel and Erestor followed after, taking up residence again in the seats they had been in earlier.  The scroll was now rolled up and tied with a ribbon. “So… what about those dreams?” prodded Glorfindel.

“Oh… right.  I was hoping--”

“--we would forget?”  Erestor leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his fist.  “I want details,” he drawled. “Whatever is making you blush this much must be extraordinarily good.”

“Eh… I mean, maybe not ‘good’, exactly--”

“Did you have a nightmare?” Glorfindel came to join Fingon on the sofa he sat upon.  “Darling, you can tell us,” he crooned as he cuddled against Fingon carefully so that he did not upset the meal Fingon was eating voraciously.  

With a shake of his head, Fingon set down his empty bowl and rubbed his hands together.  “It was not a nightmare. I just hesitate to explain my dream, because it was a little odd, and it might not mirror my actual desires.  Maybe later… I need to see what I can do with those peaches first,” he said as he stood up and migrated back to the kitchen. 

Erestor waited until he and Glorfindel were alone and then hissed as loud as he dared, “I still need to illuminate it.”  He pointed to the scroll to be sure Glorfindel knew his intentions. “Go in there and stall him,” he advised, and Glorfindel gave a nod, a twinkle in his eyes as he followed after Fingon.

When Glorfindel entered the kitchen, Fingon was digging in the cabinet, pulling out a variety of spices.  He found Fingon was now the one set on saving food, namely the dessert that was started the previous day. Glorfindel approached him from the side.  “Sunshine, do you see the cinnamon anywhere?” Fingon asked.

Glorfindel spotted the jar and held it up -- not over, but up.  Fingon looked down at the movement and smiled as he reached for it, now comically so much taller than Glorfindel. Glorfindel stepped a little closer, not only to help, but also to see just where he measured up.  So far nothing had been said of Fingon’s additional height, but Glorfindel could not help himself. “Do not laugh at me but...I would like it if you would pick me up sometimes and hold me. I like that you are so big now, except that I feel as if I am down here and you are up there. You make me feel so safe,” he asked shyly, feeling somewhat ridiculous for expressing his desire.

Fingon shut the cabinet and looked down.  “You are awfully adorable down there,” he admitted.  “Back when we were in our early adulthood, Turgon used to do this when we would encounter each other at family gatherings.”  Fingon bent at his knees, wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s waist, and stood back up again. Now Glorfindel was slightly elevated, looking down upon Fingon.  “We stopped when I hit my head on a chandelier in our grandmother’s house and it fell from the ceiling. You can never tell her it was us.”

Glorfindel nestled into the crook of Fingon’s neck, very happy. “Is it wrong that I wish I could have seen that?” he mused, nuzzling him and laughing. “Thank you, Káno. I like this very much. But now that you have indulged me I should let you keep on with what you were doing.” A quick kiss to Fingon’s nose was offered, as well as a gentle boop with his fingertip. Glorfindel’s beautiful face seemed radiant with simple joy and contentment; an aura of peace surrounded him.

“In that case, down, boy,” joked Fingon as he set Glorfindel back upon his feet.  “Do you think cinnamon is going to help bring these back to life, or just more booze?  Thank goodness I added the alcohol or the whole thing would be ruined.” He was simmering the peaches again and picked up a wooden ladle that had taken up the position of the spoon now that it had been confiscated by the dog.

“Um...I am going to taste with a clean spoon, please do not slap my hands. I promise I will be sanitary around your food.” Glorfindel quickly did just that, sampling it and stifling a cough at the strength of the bourbon. “Damn. Well. My opinion? A little cinnamon could be well enough, but if we have any extract of vanilla bean, I think that would do a lot more to balance out the flavors. Right now the bourbon is quite dominant.”

“Vanilla.  Yes. We have that.”  Fingon went back to the cabinet and triumphantly pulled it from the third shelf.  “Did not need to get the step stool,” he said smugly as he added a bit to the concoction.

Glorfindel stood nearby, with an expression much like that of one smitten by new love during youth, though he was unaware. Guileless. His eyes tracked his husband’s every move. Contentment oozed from every pore. “What caused you to fancy bourbon and peaches so much?” he wanted to know. “I never considered the pairing, and yet I find it quite attractive.”

“Well, I am glad you said that,” answered Fingon as he moved the bottle away from his work area now that it was obvious he was not going to need more of it.  “Eres likes peaches, and someone in this house -- not Eres, that is my hint to you -- likes bourbon. I was trying to think of something to add that would have been your thing, but all I knew when I was cooking yesterday was ‘not cabbage’.  Cooking yesterday was done with a lot more distractions than I am used to having.”

“Ah. I see. You know, I have been thinking about us having a little orchard here. Something just for us. I can only imagine what you could do with a nice peach tree.”

“Oh, fresh peaches would be lovely,” agreed Fingon.  “I wonder how we would acquire some of those. Do they need to be planted in pairs?  Or… wait, Erestor said something about this one. Pears are in pairs… or were pears not in pairs…?”  He tried to recall as he stirred the belated dessert.

Glorfindel laughed. “Most things are in pairs, but it can depend on variety. There is a fancy seller of fruit trees on the mainland, and I have heard they even allow for ordering by mail. I know an ellon at the market who has a catalog; perhaps he would allow me to borrow it. You see, this is the sort of thing to plan out now. Choose the sites, amend the soil, plan for watering, and then allow the preparations to winter over. It would be a lovely thing to anticipate during the cold days of winter. I love catalogs, especially the ones with color drawings.” He sighed happily at the mere thought.

“That sounds like a great idea.  Maybe we can surprise Erestor. I need to make up for the botched up garden somehow, and he does love trees.  And peaches. So peach trees sound like a win for me.” Fingon sampled what he was cooking and smiled. “I think the alcohol had finally cooked off, and the vanilla was a nice addition.”  He held out the ladle with some of the boozy peaches for Glorfindel to try.

“We might as well consider what would be most useful--mmmmm oh that is lovely-- and get all of them at once. They take years to produce. Peaches, definitely. Perhaps cherries? Plums? Have you ever had a mulberry? Those are just wonderful. And apples I think, and of course apricots. Pears are lovely, and so are figs. Oh, figs in syrup, those are amazing! The syrup tastes like cinnamon without doing a thing…” Glorfindel cleared his throat, realizing he had been waxing poetic. “Anyway, I am sure we can discuss some sensible choices.”

“Perfect.  Because in answer to your question, while I have had mulberries, I have not had any of these trees.  Zero trees of any sort, really,” said Fingon. “Grandpa Finwë grew a lot of what I called field crops, whether that is the right term or not.  Corn, wheat, cotton, tobacco… and he still grows these things, that is where all their money comes from. They produce in bulk with a staff. Trees in orchards looked cute, but I get the feeling that those would not have brought in a lot of income.  While we are on the subject, everyone thinks Caranthir figured out economics from his father, but it was really our grandfather who taught him that.”

“Whereas everything I know is what Erestor taught me or I overheard from him. Which I suppose is a great deal. He had some aptitude for making money with produce; there were some times in Gondolin...but he has always loved it most for the art of it, I think. I think he would enjoy having an orchard again, but he would know best.”

“What do I know best?” Erestor asked while still approaching the kitchen, with an upbeat lilt to his voice. “I mean, there are so many things, but let us assume that this is a subject of interest,” he teased.

“Whether you want another fruit orchard, Oh Insufferable One of Glorious Beauty,” Glorfindel rolled his eyes, holding out a hand in invitation. “We started the discussion with how nice it might be to have our own peach tree. Or trees, as the case may be; maybe they have them now with multiple graftings for pollination purposes.”  He arched a brow at Erestor, unseen to Fingon, and Erestor winked. All was ready in the other room, and Glorfindel smirked. “Shall I get some bowls?” offered Glorfindel when he saw Fingon remove the skillet from the heat.

“Please.  I will need to let this cool, but that gives me time to whip the cream.  Which, I need to get fresh cream, I am not taking a chance on that.” Fingon placed the skillet upon a towel on the counter, and then went to the basement.

As soon as Fingon was gone, the other two members of the family began to excitedly talk over each other.

“Where did you put it?” came out at the same time as, “Should I bring it out here?”

Glorfindel looked around.  “No… not after all that work.  It is still messy in here--”

“We need him back in the other room, then,” Erestor said hurriedly as the sound of Fingon returning came to their ears.  

“Then go back in there,” insisted Glorfindel.  He spun Erestor toward the doorway and gave him a smack on the rear for additional motivation.  When Fingon came back up, he found only Glorfindel in the kitchen. “Bowls are ready!” he announced cheerily.

If Fingon thought something was amiss, he said nothing.  “So they are. Where did Erestor go?”

“Oh, come now,” teased Glorfindel.  “How long do you want to risk the kitchen with Erestor in it?  You know what happens to food when he touches it. He was eying up the skillet, and--”

“Say no more,” laughed Fingon.  He poured the cream into a clean bowl, and he and Glorfindel took turns whipping it until it was sweet and airy, and ready to top the peach concoction, which Fingon spooned into the three dishes.  These were placed on a tray and carried by Fingon back out to the great room, where Erestor was back in the chair he was in earlier. The tray was presented to him first, and he selected a bowl of candied, bourbon-infused peaches.  Fingon brought the tray back to the couch, where Glorfindel was already waiting for him, and the pair snuggled up together and clinked bowls before they sampled the dessert. “Not bad. My father would shake his head at eating something technically left out overnight, but I think my mother would be proud of this endeavor.”

“I am proud of it as well,” opined Glorfindel.

Erestor, who was happily eating his peaches, had his mouth full and could only offer a smile and a raised thumb, which made both of his companions laugh.  “Really good,” he said once he swallowed, only to spoon up another bite.

“I hope I can duplicate it in the future,” Fingon said.  He had only eaten a few mouthfuls before he set his bowl aside, though as soon as Erestor finished, Fingon stood up and traded bowls.

Erestor frowned.  “Are you sure?” The prospect of additional peaches was one he enjoyed, but not at the expense of Fingon’s happiness.

“I just ate breakfast,” Fingon reminded him.  “Go on. It makes me happy to see you eating the things I cook,” he said as he settled down beside Glorfindel again.

Glorfindel licked the back of his spoon, and after eating a little more, offered some to Fingon.  “This is very good, but so rich. I doubt I can finish this entire thing myself.”

“I think you just like to feed things to me,” accused Fingon after he allowed Glorfindel to deposit the dessert between his parted lips.  

“I was not even thinking of that,” Glorfindel said.  “Since you mention it…” He drew his finger through the whipped cream and presented it to Fingon.  

Smiling impishly, Fingon took hold of Glorfindel’s wrist and flicked his tongue over Glorfindel’s finger before drawing the digit into his mouth.  He sucked off all of the cream, and then nipped Glorfindel’s finger before he let go of his wrist. “Even more delicious this way.”

“Oh, do not get him started,” warned Erestor, only half-serious.  “You know how food is his thing.”

“I know…”  Fingon took another bite of the dessert that was offered.  “Why do you think I keep bringing up that edible paint?” All Glorfindel managed to do was groan softly at the thought.

“So…” interrupted Erestor before he lost his mates to an afternoon of passion, “You mentioned you had an interesting dream.”

Fingon looked over to Erestor, finished with the second bowl and on the edge of his seat with a silly grin.  “You still want me to tell you.” Erestor nodded emphatically. “Alright.”

Fingon stretched his legs out before he drew them up and pulled Glorfindel closer to him.  “There were two parts of the dream. One of the parts, I was lying in bed, writing in a journal.  I remember how it was explained to me that the first time the two of you made love, you wrote your experiences out with your thoughts and feelings.  So that is where that came from. Only each of you was flanking me, and some of the things I was writing down were really terrible and required an editor, and seemed a little out of sorts for me.”

“Such as?” encouraged Erestor when Fingon stopped speaking.

“Ah… I am not going to be able to remember all of the specifics,” said Fingon as the blush returned.  “I remember one badly written passage which was something like, ‘do not make me punish you with a punishment’, and something about a spanking… see, this is not my sort of thing,” Fingon said.

“Who were you punishing?” pressed Glorfindel as he set the mostly empty bowl aside.  Across the room, Erestor had one brow lifted and a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“Oh, who do you think, Glorfindel?  You were the one who suggested I do that to him yesterday.”  Fingon avoided eye contact with Erestor. “It was just… you know, silly dreams.”

“While it might not be your sort of thing,” said Glorfindel, “it is *someone’s* sort of thing.”

“Did you just threaten to spank me, or did I actually get a good, hard spanking?”  Erestor licked his lips, a twinkle in his eyes.

“No, no actual spanking occurred,” said Fingon.  “Eventually, though, there was sex on a horse.”

This caught Glorfindel’s attention.  “Was I involved in that?” 

Fingon nodded.  “You were making love to Erestor, and both of you were on the back of a horse.  Big, white horse.”

“Asfaloth,” muttered Glorfindel sadly.

“Where were you?” asked Erestor.

“Watching,” answered Fingon after a lengthy pause.

Glorfindel nuzzled at Fingon’s ear, which brought forth a little moan.  “Watching, or pleasuring yourself while watching?”

Fingon turned his head to give Glorfindel a half dozen lazy kisses.  “How could anyone watch the two of you make love and not derive pleasure from that?”

“Did you know that horses can represent one’s ideal lover in dreams?” asked Glorfindel.

“Interesting.  No, that is not something I have heard before,” said Fingon.

Glorfindel continued.  “If the horse is tied up, it means the need to be controlling.  If the horse is saddled, it means you feel safe.”

Fingon bit his lip.  “No saddle, just a blanket.  What would that mean?”

“A free roaming horse that lacks a saddle means unpredictability.  Also, your proximity to the horse is supposed to represent how close you are to your lover.  In this case, lovers.”

“Accurate,” agreed Fingon.

“How close were you to the horse?” wondered Erestor.

“Very close.  Close enough to touch the horse,” recalled Fingon.  “Actually… I was sitting on another horse,” he realized as he closed his eyes and thought back to the dream.

Now Erestor came to join his companions, squeezing in between Fingon and the side of the sofa.  “Tell us more about your horse,” he said. 

“It was black.”

“Was it bigger than ours?” asked Glorfindel.

“Yes?  No… no, it only seemed that way because it was closer.  I mean, I was sitting on it. On the saddle.”

“So yours had a saddle,” repeated Erestor.

Fingon nodded, eyes still closed.  “Yes to a saddle, but no bridle, not tied up.”

“The colors might be significant, too,” offered Glorfindel.  “White is purity, as you know. Positivity, innocence, goodness… while black is authority and seduction.”

“Normally I avoid these sorts of interpretations,” said Fingon as he opened his eyes, “but in my analysis now that I am hearing what you say these symbolize, I wonder if my thoughts were based on the idea that the two of you might be unpredictable in your sexual yearnings, while I am fairly… not,” he stated with a little laugh at his inability to better articulate.

“Or maybe that what used to define your view of yourself will change?” Erestor surmised. “This is a lot of change in a short time. Self-discovery. We elves are not exactly known for our impulsive and quickly transformative natures.”

“In light of that…”  Glorfindel peered around Fingon and received an excited nod from Erestor.  He practically leaped up to retrieve the scroll, previously forgotten on the little writing table.  He bowed before Fingon and handed it to him. “A proclamation for the king.”

“Oh?”  Fingon wrapped his long fingers around the rolled paper.  “You realize usually kings make proclamations instead of receiving them.”

“Well, yes, we do expect you to speak the proclamation,” said Erestor.

“Hmm.”  Fingon pulled the ribbon from the scroll, and could not help but smile a little at the grins from both of his husbands.  He cleared his throat before he held it out at eye level to read it. “A Royal Proclamation by the King. Whereas we have taken it into our Royal Consideration, and for the benefit of all Our Loving Subjects, in the greater interest of the Kingdom as a whole,

And whereas it will greatly contribute to the morale of the Kingdom, and to the… current desirous nature of the King, the following titles be now generously granted.

Be it known henceforth in the Kingdom of Lost Play -- cute -- that His Royal Majesty, King Findekáno, is -- oh, you two are too much -- an official member of the Twice a Day Club, with all due benefits and accolades.

And His Royal Majesty’s Loving Subjects, do hereby strictly forbid, upon penalty and pain of great displeasure, His Royal Majesty from denying himself whatever pleasures he might desire of Our Loving Subjects, and hereby do authorize, enjoin, and require that His Royal Majesty never be restrained by social normality, conventions of etiquette, or the ridiculous advice of his younger brother.

Given at Our Court, this second day of the first year of Our reign.

Eru save the King.”

“Well?” prodded Erestor when Fingon’s next move was to silently reread the scroll to himself.  

“You two…”  Fingon shook his head.  “I see what Turgon means when he says…”  He only shook his head and rolled the scroll again, tied it off with the ribbon, and bopped each of them gently on the head with it.  “Thank you. This was very endearing.”

“He read it, so it sticks, right?” Glorfindel asked. “Are those not the rules?”

“That was how it worked in Gondolin, and Doriath,” Erestor confirmed. “And the Greenwood.”

“Oh goody,” Glorfindel said smugly. “The Twice a Day Club just got so much better.  Membership to the club is now closed.”

“We should frame this and hang it up in the bedroom as a reminder.  In Dor-lómin, that was what we did. I mean, I did not have the proclamations in the bedroom, I had them in the hall.  It was different there, though. None of them referred to me as King; I refused to be called a King there. That was why my father finally took it away from me,” he amusedly said.  “I wandered away a lot -- any time a message was to be sent to him, I took it myself and took the scenic route both ways -- and when there were pressing matters in Dor-lómin, I put it to a vote of the people.  I never really understood why democracy scared so many other lords and rulers.”

Erestor chuckled. “That must have gone over so very well.” He shook his head, trying to envision how interesting it must have been to serve Fingon in the days of his rule. All that really came to mind was,  _ Poor Fingolfin _ .

Fingon kissed each of them after he set the scroll aside for safe keeping.  “So begin the days of glory for the Kingdom of Lost Play.” 

“Kingdom,” echoed Glorfindel, a silly smile etched on his face. “I like the sound of that. Can we have a moat? I always wanted one.”

“Well, maybe it could be incorporated into an irrigation plan for the garden,” Erestor mused. “That is if we ever, ah, uhm…”

“Oh my goodness, a moat?”  Fingon all but groaned. “What is with you Gondolin Elves and your moats and barriers?”  He looked down his nose at Glorfindel. “You know Turgon’s house here has a moat around it, right?”  Fingon rubbed his forehead.

“It does?” Glorfindel asked, genuinely taken aback. “Oh no...well now it is out of the question, I suppose. It would be unoriginal. Damn. It would have been so much fun, too. We could have channeled the overflow from the spring, and--” A lengthy sigh escaped him.

But Fingon was not done explaining the eccentricities of his brother.  “There is a drawbridge, and he stands on the front porch and demands the password.  And he changes the password. And he literally has denied me entry because I did not know the current password.”

Glorfindel looked at Erestor. “We just married into this, you know.”

“Uhm…” Erestor carded his fingers through his hair, perplexed. “We, ah...now I want the moat too. I refuse to feel deprived,” he insisted now, crossing his arms with finality.

“Attack swans,” Fingon added.  “He was told by Manwë -- yes, by Manwë -- he could not keep alligators in the moat anymore -- meaning they were there in the first place, so he negotiated for swans, and then he trained them to attack people.  Have you ever been attacked by a swan?” asked Fingon, not waiting for an answer. “I have. Not fun. Especially not fun when both Turgon and Aredhel are standing on the porch laughing at me about it because they know the password and I do not.  The only thing that makes up for it is sometimes Turgon forgets the password and gets locked out until he can remember it.”

“But… Turgon is the one who makes the passwords, right?” asked Erestor.

“I know.  It makes no sense.  He sat on the lawn for three days once because he could not recall his own password and Elenwe said it would be cheating to offer him hints.  Anyhow,” added Fingon, “those birds are evil. One of them even bit my ass as I retreated.”

“You just have to know how to handle them,” Glorfindel told him, amused. “Besides, we can have a different guard animal if it makes you feel better. Right after we fence in our outer lands, and declare the borders of our realm.”

“I thought we might just… erect a flag and call it a day,” suggested Fingon.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Glorfindel answered with a perfectly executed courtly bow. “Your merest wish is my heart’s desire.” A kiss to Fingon’s ring of marriage emphasized the sentiment. “I thought I would offer to help either or both of you with projects; I feel a need to give the painting more time to dry. Garden? Greenhouse? Something different? Do tell.”

“...erecting my flagpole?” suggested Fingon, sounding far too innocent.

“Not fair!” Erestor whined. “I deliberately left it alone out of courtesy and now he is...he is making bawdy jokes!”

“He is at that,” Glorfindel sighed. “I confess I too am at a loss, because there is probably nothing I would rather do than get his flagpole erect. I mean, erect his flagpole. Uhm, crud. Now I just want to sit on his flagpole.” His hand moved as discreetly as possible so as to obfuscate the distinct swelling in his leggings. “It is a flagpole worthy of a great king,” he admitted. If he could be teased, nothing said he could not respond with atrociously blunt honesty.

“There is the unalphabetization of the garden,” Fingon reminded them.  “So many seedlings, so little time.”

“From what you described earlier, we just need to stop alphabetizing, more than un-alphabetize,” Glorfindel opined. “Ress, do you agree? With the rows being so widely spaced?”

Erestor’s answer came in the form of a nod, and a kiss stolen from Fingon. “We could just keep sowing seeds or transplanting. Though, you have to have starts to transplant, so we could direct sow more seeds or start seeds in the greenhouse. Which would you rather do, love?”

“I feel like being out in the sun today,” said Fingon.  “Either way, this is not appropriate attire for work of any sort.  Excuse me; I shall return.” 

When Fingon did return, he found Glorfindel making food, and Erestor helping without getting too close to the actual food.  “Hungry again already?” Fingon jested.

“Glorfindel had the idea to make some things that we could pack into a basket, so that we could have a picnic outside when we feel like it, and then a dip in the spring when we are done with work.  That way, you can stay out in the sun as long as you like,” Erestor explained.

“Wonderful idea, sunshine,” said Fingon as he stooped to claim a kiss from Glorfindel.  

“We are nearly done,” promised Glorfindel.

“Maybe you could go out and gather all the tools we will need,” suggested Erestor after he received a kiss as well.  “We will be right behind you.”

“Perfect.”  Fingon took a straw hat he favored from a peg on the wall and headed outside.

Glorfindel placed a folded checkered blanket in the basket and then began to arrange the sandwiches, wrapped in paper, around pieces of fruit he had selected and piled in the middle.  “Do you think we should bring some dessert?”

“I thought we were dessert,” Erestor said slyly.

“Eres?  Fin?” No sooner had he left, but Fingon was back in the house.  “Were either of you expecting someone?”

The look they exchanged answered his question.  “Someone is approaching?” asked Glorfindel.

“No, the approaching happened already,” Fingon said as he went to a window in the kitchen and peeked out.  “Someone is in the garden, eating apples, and doing so in a very concerning manner.”

“In my garden?”  Erestor had not intended for it to sound so defensive, but nonetheless he pulled a pair of gloves from the shelf near the door.  “Who is it?”

“No clue,” admitted Fingon.  “Those watch dogs are slacking, if someone made it on the property without so much as a single bark of warning from them!”  Soon all three were outside, Erestor with his gloves on, hands on his hips, as if ready to do battle with the intruder, and Fingon, arms crossed over his chest, imposing in height, but lacking in execution with his hair still messily pulled back and fluffed out in an undesirable style.  Only Glorfindel remained somewhat calm, peering over their shoulders to see their uninvited guest.

The apple eater was perched on the edge of a raised bed used for strawberries to keep them away from nibbling rabbits, faced in the direction of the garden, shaking his head in disapproval. He chomped into what appeared to be his final apple, and it was evident why no evidence of any others remained as he continued to gnaw his way through this apple, seeds, core, stem, and all, in ridiculous huge bites.  His appearance was atypical. Here, it appeared, was an Elf, but his ears were not just delicately pointed, they rivaled Fingon’s in size. His hair was not simply long, but the fine snow-white mane cascaded down in a manner that would make any Elda jealous. His skin was pale, but it would not be called white, for it had an opalescent quality to it. This was especially noticeable with his long, slender neck.  Everything about him was lengthy, and it was obvious even seated that he would be taller than Fingon when he stood. He clicked his tongue and snorted. “I leave you alone for a few years, and look what happens. Fennel next to the dill, and what is even going on with the cucumbers. Why would you ever plant so many types of cucumbers? Did we not learn our lessons the first time around?” 

“Who is he?” whispered Fingon to Erestor.

With furrowed brow and a shake of his own head, Erestor responded.  “I thought perhaps you might know. He looks like a Maia.”

“You realize it is rude to disinclude someone from the conversation, and that I can hear everything the two of you are saying.”  The mysterious visitor shook his head and his hair swished back and forth. His voice was airy, and slightly haughty, but not without a certain familiar charm.  “I appreciate the carrots, but why are there no oats? Oats should have been the first thing you planted.”

The blood drained from Glorfindel’s face as he moved slowly forward, now only minimally aware of his husbands. Smatterings of a barely remembered dream--or was it a dream?--flooded his mind. The recollection of pain, and the bitter chastisement he had received overwhelmed him. “Please pardon them,” Glorfindel spoke in a muted voice, approaching near before going down on one knee. “You were right to rebuke me--I was so foolish, and I did not see. I had--the dream, when I was trapped--I want to believe that some part of me took all that you said to heart. I have done my best to amend my wrongs. I pray to Eru that you will forgive me; I have missed you so much. I--I will plant all the oats you want.” A tear-streaked but honest face raised up to look at the stranger, in both hope and fear. “Please?”

Erestor watched, fascinated, catching glimpses of Glorfindel’s memories; realization began to dawn on him. He took Fingon’s hand in gentle restraint, for he felt his mate’s impulse to intervene for Glorfindel.  _ Káno--every fiber of my being tells me that ellon is Asfaloth. This is very important to Fin. _

“His horse?” blurted out Fingon before he could censor himself.

Asfaloth did not seem to mind the outburst, but pretended to take offense.  “His horse? Honey, no. The horse is more like it, a horse is almost acceptable.”  He patted Glorfindel on the head, and a little jingling could be heard from a ring of bells coiled around his wrist.  “Enough of that. If you are planting oats for me, you certainly cannot do that on your knees, can you? Also, is there tea?  I find I have taken quite an interest in this Elven habit of having tea and I would like to try some,” expressed Asfaloth as he looked at the others with large, dark eyes seemingly devoid of pupils and long lashes to accentuate them.

Glorfindel brushed his tears away while the beginnings of a smile formed on his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly, not minding when Erestor moved forward to help him up. 

“I will not make you the tea,” Erestor offered Asfaloth. “It is the best courtesy I can offer. But I will help Fin and Káno. We have more than one kind; will you not come inside to see what pleases you most?” Erestor now turned his expressive eyes to Fingon, with a measure of pleading in their depths. Well aware of his culinary uselessness as a host, he tried to convey a wish for edible food mingled with a promise to explain what the fuck this was all about at some point in the near future--insofar as he knew himself.

“Love to, darling, love to!”  Asfaloth hopped down and flipped his hair over his shoulders.  “Oh, show of hands, who here is the keeper of the pretty little filly with the star on her nose?”  Slowly, Fingon raised his hand. “Congratulations, I have it on good authority you are going to be a grandfather about a year from now.”  Asfaloth winked as he walked past.

“Did he just infer what I think he did?” asked Fingon, having grabbed hold of Glorfindel’s arm on his way past.  

“He has always been a bit, ah, frisky.  This is why I always choose stallions and geldings to race,” whispered Erestor as he hurried past to reach the door ahead of Asfaloth.

Fingon still held fast to Glorfindel’s arm.  “And why did you not geld your horse when you had the chance?”

“I can still hear you!” shouted Asfaloth from within the house.

Glorfindel worried his hands.  “I hope you are joking,” he pleaded.

“Mostly,” confirmed Fingon as he let go of Glorfindel’s arm.

“Do not be ‘mostly,’ Glorfindel begged with a hint of panic. “I promised him oats, but to do that I need his help. If he will not aid me, do you have any idea how hard this will be? Please, do not upset him.” He tugged at a lock of his hair, winding and unwinding it around his finger, clearly quite agitated.

“It is not as if I am going to go and castrate him now,” Fingon said, lowering his voice drastically, hand cupped to the side of his mouth.  “I mean, he is not really a horse right now… not really sure what he is right now,” admitted Fingon. “Concerns me what exactly went on with my horse--”

“Still a horse!”  Asfaloth had wandered back out and shocked Fingon into letting go of Glorfindel so he could spin around.  “Oh, fancy. Nice move.” Asfaloth adjusted his clothing -- all leather, with fringe and tassels -- and shook his hair back again.  “I was a horse when I got here, and I am a horse now. It makes it far easier to speak with you like this than… well, looking like a horse.  Would it help if I did this?” And he proceeded to whinny and nicker and sidestepped over to Glorfindel, and tried to pick his pocket. “What?  No sugar?” he asked as he dug deeper and almost shoved Glorfindel into the grass. “Has to be some sugar somewhere… I have been *such* a good boy…”

Fingon watched a moment more before he said, “I am going to go help Erestor make tea,” and retreated.

Asfaloth stood himself back up and licked his lips.  “I might need tea *and* sugar before I help you with those oats.  Second time today I get to sow my oats. Get it? Get it?” Asfaloth punched Glorfindel’s shoulder gently and nodded to the door.  “I like the new one. He is delightful fun. So, maybe you can show me where my room is while they make the tea.”

Glorfindel stood, frozen and flummoxed. “A, uhm, room for you in this form, or the kind where you have hooves? I do not wish to be rude but you have me at a tremendous disadvantage. I never considered you in another...another…” Flailing for words, he instead described shapes with his hands before dropping them in discouragement. 

“I know!  I am usually so handsome, and this…” Asfaloth tugged on one long ear and shook his head.  “Could be worse though. You should have seen what Huan used to look like when he did this.  He drooled, scratched himself in front of guests, and had the worst table manners! He was also prone to sniffing people inappropriately.  You will find I am far better behaved. I have impeccable manners. Unless you show me a horse, filly or mare, in heat. Then all bets are off.”

“I will suppose you mean a room with a bed, like an elf would prefer. If I am mistaken please correct me.” At first he started toward the door to the house, then just as quickly stopped and turned, blushing furiously. “I have to ask. Did you, uh, with the mare...like this?” Another gesture indicated Asfaloth’s present physical configuration. “And if so,  _ how _ ??”

Asfaloth blinked several times and then patted Glorfindel on the head again, bells tinkling softly.  “First, gross. Second, how? I could not possibly get up there without a step stool. Third, why? When I am a horse, I am, well… hung like a horse.”  Asfaloth frowned. “Definitely the biggest disappointment with this form.”

Glorfindel massaged his forehead. “I will assume you can shift into your usual shape easily. And if I am mistaken, please do not correct me. Some things are perhaps best left unsaid between us. This way, and then there will be tea with sugar. I will buy more sugar for you. I did not expect--”  Shaking his head, Glorfindel smiled. “It is good to see you.”

And in a blink, there he was, answer and equine companion all at once.  Asfaloth butted his long head against Glorfindel and made a whuffly little grunt before he turned to go into the house -- and stopped when his shoulders smacked into the sides of the doorway.  “You really need to keep me from doing that!” insisted Asfaloth as he backed away, back in his not oft seen two-legged form.

“I have a hard enough time keeping up with my husbands,” Glorfindel mused. “And myself. But I will do my best. Doorways. No good. Got it.” He walked on a ways, through the kitchen and past Erestor setting the table and Fingon making tea, down the corridor until he opened a door concealing a comfortable and cozy bedroom. “This is a little embarrassing, but we are newly bonded. You might find this room, quite far away from the one in which we sleep, more conducive to rest. Plus, no stairs, and quite close to the kitchen. Will this suit you?”

“Why, is the new one louder than Erestor?”  Asfaloth surveyed the room, opening empty drawers and peering out the window.  “Do you know how well horses can hear? Is there an empty stall in the stable just in case you crazy lovebirds get the idea some day to screw around in the kitchen?”

“Uhm…” Glorfindel felt his cheeks heating again. “No, not louder than Erestor. Yes, empty stall, and I will freshen the straw right away. Kitchen…already...uhm…” The final words were indistinct but might have had to do with “try to behave ourselves.”

“Why bother?”  Asfaloth pushed on the mattress to test it out.  “I just told your new one -- I need a name for him, by the way, or I am just going to make something up -- that I banged his racehorse.  How do I know she is a racehorse? She must have told me about eight times while I was banging her that she is a racehorse. I just hope the empty stall is not too close to hers because I do not want to hear the racehorse story again tonight if I can help it.”  He sat down on the edge. “This is nice.” He leaned back and gave a happy whinny. “Why have I been sleeping standing up all these years?” he groaned.

“True. Káno. His name is Káno. Findekáno, one time high king of the Noldor. He will not care about that, but I cannot help it if I am a little proud to have such a valiant husband. I have a courageous husband, and a genius husband, and now you have returned to me. I cannot say I have you, for I rather suspect it might be the other way around. Either way I hardly deserve this.”

Asfaloth, who had been dozing off, suddenly sat up straight.  “The gymnast!” he exclaimed. “The idiot who did the backflip on the Eagle.  Huh. I will reserve judgement.” He dropped back down again with a little jingle from the bells.  “Beds are soooo gooood.” He looked up with sleepy eyes. “Straw sucks. I am staying in here. Oats tomorrow.  Sleep now.”

Shaking out a light blanket, Glorfindel covered Asfaloth, leaning down to gently kiss his forehead. “Rest well, dear one,” he smiled, wondering how odd it was going to be to converse with his horse. A horse. The horse, he reminded himself. Withdrawing, he wondered if he could convince his mates to help him move the plow--the real plow--and the harrow out of the weeds. But first, there was tea that was now unwanted. Silly horse.

Glorfindel returned to the kitchen to find Fingon nursing a cup of tea and Erestor at the table playing a game of solitaire.  “You can tell your horse later that I have pretty good hearing, too,” said Fingon as he reached out to move a card and had his hand slapped away.  “That backflip on the Eagle was pretty amazing.”

The golden-haired elf seated himself at the table. “I did not expect any of this, and I confess it will take some time before I feel less awkward. When I think of all the things I said to him, not truly considering-- I mean, I always knew he was very special. That he could understand me. But the notion that he would ever speak to me in return is a little unsettling.” The blue-green eyes raised to watch his partners carefully, especially Fingon. “Are you both going to be able to accept this?” he asked timidly. “Because when he is not a horse he looks very much like an ellon, and I have always loved him. But not like I love...ugh.” He buried his head in his folded arms, not entirely knowing how to ask the question. Or even what the question should be, exactly.

“I am going to try to look upon this with an optimistic view,” offered Fingon.  “Another person helping with the farming and gardening would be appreciated. Also, having someone here with you when Erestor and I are out working would make me feel better.  As long as he does not try to do to you what he did with my horse… because that would be weird on too many levels.”

“I would not,” Glorfindel promised, reaching for his hand. “I spoke vows to you both. Vows I intend to keep. Besides, I do not think I have enough legs to be his type, if you know what I mean.” Fingon glared back openly, crossing his arms. “I am sorry about your mare,” Glorfindel said contritely. “But...we will have a foal, surely that is not a bad thing?”

“I do like baby animals,” Fingon admitted, though his voice was still grumbly.

“I have a suggestion,” spoke up Erestor as he gathered all the cards together and shuffled them.  “Asfaloth was a mighty racehorse in his own right. For the time being--”

“Oh, no.  Absolutely not.  I know what you are going to suggest.”  Fingon’s expression made it look as if the tea was acidic.  “I cannot possibly ride him. I will think of him in the form he is now in the entire time.  I will need to find another solution.”

“Asfaloth is not just Asfaloth,” Erestor explained gently.  “We know him as such, but he was previously the companion of Oromë, known as Nahar.”

“That made it worse,” said Fingon.  “Now I am imagining Asfaloth trotting around, as he looks right now, with Oromë on his shoulders, blowing the Valaroma.”

“Is Oromë blowing the Valaroma, or is Na-- Asfaloth doing that?” wondered Erestor.

“Does it matter, if he looks like that?” pressed Fingon.  “Maybe they trade off! Maybe sometimes, Oromë gallops around with Asfaloth on his shoulders, just to keep it interesting, and they both have a horn to blow!”

It was quiet for a moment.  Erestor shuddered as the image slipped into his own mind.  “Well,” said Glorfindel, still staring at the top of the table, “if that is the case, I should not tell you what he told me about Huan.”

Fingon had sudden interest.  “Huan was Celegorm’s problem, and any problem which is Celegorm’s problem, I have morbid curiosity regarding the outcome.”

Glorfindel told Fingon all he knew, and this at least brought a smile to Fingon’s lips.  “That does not make up for what happened, but it does amuse me.”

“I think you could ride him if you made your mind up to do it,” Glorfindel said gently. Fingon narrowed his eyes a little; it was hard for him to pass up a challenge.  “If he allows it, I know that I will. His strength and speed are unmatched. Maybe if you thought of how many times I have straddled his back. Felt him running underneath me, moving like the wind, my body moving as one with his. I have shared so much of my life with him; for longer than I have been wed to Erestor, Asfaloth carried me. You know, it is not something I would offer to share with just anyone.” He licked his lips. “Only someone whose spirit is fused to mine, because I share a bond with him as well. He has guided my steps when I was beyond the reach of all others. Maybe he would even carry us both at the same time, and then I could hold you close or be held close against you.” 

Erestor’s interest was immediately piqued, for he could not quite recall ever hearing Glorfindel speak quite like this--with such metaphorical imagery. Not that Fin was any stranger to seduction or intimacy, but this held all the allure of noticing a new facet on a brilliant gemstone. Few had been given the opportunity to ride Asfaloth, and Erestor counted himself quite fortunate to be counted among them.  He watched Fingon carefully, to see what effect the words might have. It was the easiest means by which to ignore his own arousal at having listened to such provocative sentiments.

“Fair is fair, I guess,” grumbled Fingon.  “I put up with your horse, you put up with Turgon as your brother-in-law.”  Tea was stirred and sipped. “I am still not sure about the riding part. I have a request, though.  I feel as if I have made an immense amount of progress, and I really like my privacy, and I do not want to look up while the three of us are… canoodling in the hot spring, and see him… swinging in the hammock drinking lemonade.  If it means getting a second mare to keep him busy, fine. I want the freedom of being able to walk around naked in my own home.”

“I will talk to him,” Glorfindel acquiesced. “While I know he has a, uh, stallion’s view of sex, I do not particularly relish the thought of him walking in on us. Nor do I want to deny him the comfort of a mattress, if sleeping like this is what he wants. He can transform in the blink of an eye. What you ask is beyond reasonable. Moreover, I thank you for this, Káno. I have some idea what I am asking of you.” Rising from his chair, he walked to be able to embrace his husband from behind, kissing him chastely on his cheek. “You cannot know how much this means to me.”

“Aw, look how cute you two are.  Go on, cuddle him.” Asfaloth was in the kitchen now, hands in his pockets.  “Sorry, I was just about to doze off, and I heard something about acquiring a second mare.”  He came around the table and sat down beside Erestor. He rested his arms on the table, but instead of folding his hands together, he crossed his wrists one over the other and looked intently at Glorfindel and Fingon.  “For the record, I have the same preference as Glorfindel. I like brunettes. Preferably tall and leggy. Athletic. Maybe with those adorable white pasterns that make it look like she is wearing people socks. Except, just girls for me.  I like the ladies. A lot.”

“Look at it this way, Fingon,” said Erestor as he arranged the cards for his next game, “Asfaloth is the last person--”

“Horse.”

“--horse who will judge us for our relationship.”

Glorfindel used the brief hiatus to bring Asfaloth his tea, providing the filled sugar bowl and a spoon. His hand ghosted down the mane of hair that felt just as he remembered it. Really, he wanted to put his arms around the curve of the graceful neck and lean against the silken coat, but that would have to wait. It did not seem right, to exchange that kind of affection right in front of his lovers when the horse appeared so Elven. Instead he made a point of returning to Fingon and started massaging his shoulders, leaning down to lovingly kiss the dark head. Finally, it seemed time to break the silence--if only to somewhat salvage the sugar bowl, for the horse had added so much sweetener to the tea that it ought to be undrinkable to anyone of normal tastes. “Asfaloth, you must have overheard most of what was said. Is it agreeable to you, that we can maintain some measure of privacy in our home while still providing a place for your comfort? As you can see, I am very anxious that all parties feel content. I do not wish any of us to be unhappy.”

Another spoonful of sugar was added, and this now caused a little of the mound in the cup to peek up over what liquid remained. “I had been kidding about the room until I tried the bed.”  He glanced up at Fingon. “Really sorry about that. It looked like there was a set of doors leading outside in a room near the room that does not necessarily have to be my room.”*

“There is,” confirmed Erestor, eyeing what was questionably no longer a beverage.  “I think we might be able to arrange an agreement that the great room is a community room, and perhaps we could rig a bell above the door that connects the sitting room to the great room, so that you will be able to let us know you are--”

“That sounds complicated.”  Asfaloth lifted the cup and stuck his tongue into it.  “Oh, I like tea! This is good!” He used the sugar spoon to consume his tea infused sugar.  “What if, at least for now, I just enter and exit through those doors, and if I want to come in this part of the house, I can go out those and come to these,” he said motioning to the doors that led out of the kitchen, “and knock.  If I go outside, I promise to be in a horse or other animal form so you do not have to see this, because really, who wants to see this? Dreadful… Besides, if I am outdoors, the most likely place you will find me is in the stable. You should let me come and help pick out the new mare,” he added, waggling his brows.

“Seems reasonable.”  Erestor looked across the table at Fingon.

Fingon placed a hand over Glorfindel’s, and tilted his head back.  “I can live with that.” He patted Glorfindel’s hand. “Go hug your horse, dear.  Remember -- your mind is a lot easier to read now that I can get in there.”

Glorfindel’s cheeks colored beautifully, and he dropped his head. “Oops. I tried to do what I thought would please you.” He almost asked Fingon if he was sure he did not mind, before he realized that by the same connection, his husband meant what he said. “Thank you, love. But I will still wait until he is all horse, because it is not the same if he is the same size I am. Plus, right now he does not smell like a horse. Horsey smell is a big thing. I love horsey smell.” Turning to Asfaloth, he smiled. “Nothing personal, but I agree with you. You are pleasing enough in this form, but compared to the other…I am afraid it is not even a contest.”

“Wait… I can fix this…” Asfaloth quickly downed the rest of the sugartea and then stood up from his chair.  “Nothing up my sleeve… and…”

And there was a white stallion standing in the kitchen, complete with tail that flicked and hit Erestor’s face, sweeping half the cards onto the floor.

“Sorry!” Glorfindel winced, quickly moving the tail away and smoothing Erestor’s hair. But he then did as he had wanted to, wrapping his arms around Asfaloth’s neck at the shoulder, and burying his face into the long mane. He could hear the beating heart through skin and muscle, and closed his eyes in sheer happiness. It was as if all the sorrows and misfortunes of his life had been recalled, and replaced with the many of the greatest desires of his heart. “I love you,” he whispered to the stallion while emotion surged through him. Now if he could only manage to resist blubbering.

Initially, Fingon watched the scene with a reserved smile as he finished his own less sweetened tea.  A fleeting thought, something that escaped Glorfindel’s notice, caught Fingon’s interest. A name… a face… and as Fingon gathered the loose threads of someone he had no previous concept of -- pain.  Loss. Insurmountable grief. Until now, all had been hidden, but Asfaloth’s appearance unearthed something long buried. Fingon slowly rose from his seat as Erestor, aware of the same connection, and perhaps more attuned to Glorfindel’s thoughts, now motioned for them to leave the room.

It seemed that Glorfindel was still very occupied with Asfaloth, so that when the pair reached the great room, neither Glorfindel nor Asfaloth had followed.  “Your thoughts are guarded,” Erestor whispered. “I am blocking mine and yours -- I will have to teach you how to do that, darling. We can hear him, but not the other way around at the moment.  I heard what Glorfindel was thinking, too, and realized this was…” Erestor sat down beside Fingon, who had dropped down on the nearest seat, a bench, and had a hand over his mouth and sympathy in his eyes.  “He never meant to keep this from you,” Erestor said gently as he stroked Fingon’s hair.

Fingon shook his head and said shakily, “I am not offended.  How… how old was his child?”

“He was less than ten,” answered Erestor as he rocked Fingon.  “Do you want to know his name?”

Fingon solemnly nodded.

“His name… was Indelion,” said Erestor, and he nearly choked on the words.  So long it had been since he had spoken of the child lost in Gondolin that he found he was recalling moments locked away for fear they would sadden Glorfindel.  

“And he never gets to see him.  Ever?” Fingon sniffled and wiped the back of his sleeve across his face.

“Indelion was a child when he…”  Erestor took a deep breath. “No.  As you know, Irmo cares for the spirits of the children who have died.  If they are released, they do not regain their memories from their first lives.  It is done to protect them.” Erestor’s voice cracked. 

“It seems cruel,” voiced Fingon for both of them.  “All I can think about right now is Ereinion, and Ernis, and Finbor… and how it would have broken me to have lost any one of them.”  He continued to brush away tears as he spoke. “So Asfaloth…”

“Yes.  Glorfindel channels those feelings, the feelings he so badly desires to share with his son, those things he will never get to say to that boy he lost -- Asfaloth, in some way, filled that void for him.”  Erestor now took over the task of wiping Fingon’s face and pulled him closer to hold him. “When Glorfindel was sent back, Oromë gifted Asfaloth to him. I think Oromë knew how much Glorfindel needed someone at that point -- not a lover, but a family.  He could not give Glorfindel his son back, but he could give him Asfaloth. He could give him a steadfast companion who was guaranteed never to die, never to fade away. He could not give Glorfindel his son, but he could do the next best thing. Glorfindel has such an immense capacity for love as you well know.  There was a reason he was the beloved of Gondolin. He has so much love within him it is almost blinding. It is probably the single greatest tragedy of Gondolin that he has no one to call him father, because he was the best I have ever known in that role. I know Glorfindel was set on protecting all he could, but I think there was a part of him, when that… balrog came, that was going to make damned sure it stayed away from Eärendil.”

A few more sniffing noises came from Fingon before he said, “I am not going to make Asfaloth go out one door and knock on another.  I think I can suck it up and deal with him seeing my naked ass every once in a while.” He wiped at his nose and then said, “I suddenly miss my kids so much, Eres.  I doubt I am going to be able to garden with you today. I want to write to them and invite them to come visit us and find out how all of the grandbabies are doing.”

“I think you should,” said Erestor.  “If I had any idea where Haldir was these days, I would do the same.  I think I shall write to Nenniach, though. It has been far too long since I have reached out to her.”

Glorfindel found them now as he entered the room. “Family is important,” he said in a shaky voice, drying his eyes. “We are probably overdue to reconnect with all of those with whom we have kinship.” He sat next to Fingon, trying to regain his composure. “Asfaloth went outside,” he offered by way of information.

Fingon reached out and took hold of Glorfindel’s hand.  Several times he opened his mouth, but when nothing was verbalized, Erestor suggested, “Open your mind to him.  I will take down the barriers. Let him know what you are feeling, even if you are unable to find the words.”

With eyes squeezed shut, Fingon held tighter to Glorfindel’s hand and poured out all of his emotions to him.  Glorfindel’s grief was his own grief, and Fingon mourned for a child he had never known, for a person he would never know.  When he looked up, he saw sorrow in Glorfindel’s watery eyes, but deeper still was a hint of that endless love that Erestor spoke of.  Glorfindel tugged Fingon into an embrace and whispered softly, “Thank you,” before he started sobbing on Fingon’s shoulder.

Erestor came to both of them, and joined their embrace as best as he could. “We love you, Fin. You will never be alone again. I would do anything to erase this sorrow, but I do not know how. I am so sorry.” Memories of those days flooded his mind. The loss of Indelion and Tauniel. His own disaster with Aranel. And then of course, the fall of the great city itself. Were it not for knowing Fin, in so many ways he wished it could all have somehow been erased. Had they ever really discussed it? No--and much of that was due to him. It also was not right, or fair. He resolved in that moment to find a way to do better; Fin had lost too much on account of him already.

“As would I,” said Fingon as tears flowed less freely.  “All I can tell you is that you both have three step-children now and more grandchildren than you will know what to do with, and that cannot possibly make up for the past, but I hope it will make the future a little brighter.”

Glorfindel nodded through his tears. “And nieces and nephews I barely know,” he sniffled. “For much of my life I have had no one, been cast aside. Eru has blessed me now with family and love. I want to know my family. All of them. I do not mean only Angrod and those of my blood, but all those connected to both of you. I will need help,” he said, strain pitching his voice higher. “I want this but I am afraid, too. I cannot do it without you.”

“Hey -- I am with you, remember?  Always,” promised Fingon as he stroked Glorfindel’s cheek. 

“As am I,” added Erestor, his arms still around them both.

A knock was heard on the doorjamb. “Ooooh, group hug! Can I join in?” Asfaloth eagerly crossed the room to all of them. “I just came back to see if there was a little more tea and--” For a moment, all the humor and fancy fell from his demeanor. “I am with you too, Glorfindel. I will not leave you again, and I promise to carry you where you cannot venture alone. Quite literally. Carry, get it? Big strong hooves, and everything.” He refrained from hugging all three of them, settling instead for placing his hand over Glorfindel’s golden hair.

“You probably heard already, what with your excellent abilities,” said Erestor, “but Fingon made mention of all of the grandchildren he has visiting.”

“Grandchildren? Like, little ones?  Like, teeny tiny elfies?” Asfaloth motioned with his hands until Fingon nodded.  “Oh, please please please please please please let me play with them… well, they probably think they get to play with me.  I give the best horseyback rides because -- come on, you know this one -- because I am a horse.” Asfaloth crossed his wrists as he had before and tapped one foot on the ground.  “Oh, I hope one of them knows how to braid flowers into hair because I need that in my life again so much. So much.”

“I believe I might have a granddaughter who likes to do that,” confirmed Fingon.  Asfaloth tapped the knuckles of his fisted hands together, and let out a happy horsey noise.

“I know how to do that too,” Glorfindel sniffled, reaching for Asfaloth’s hand. “I would love to do that. We have all these flower seeds, and everything. And there are already buds on some of the roses. I will not neglect your beauty.”

“I know you will not,” Asfaloth smiled, holding Glorfindel’s hand comfortingly. “Come on now, sugar buzz! I will meet you outdoors, and first off we should have a quick run. Just a little one, to get the circulation moving. Then I thought I overheard something about gardening. Gardening is like sowing oats, but more relaxed. Sowing oats, get it?” he squeezed Glorfindel’s hand a little before releasing it. “You probably need to hurry, or else your first pile of fertilizer might go on the wrong spot,” he noted, rushing out to the exit and disappearing.

“The letters can wait,” Erestor murmured.

“I do not think he was joking,” Glorfindel added, trying to find the motivation to stand up. 

“Oops!” came loudly from outside. “I hope the shovel is in the stable?”

Fingon massaged his forehead. “I hope he missed the doormat. And the letters can definitely wait until evening.”

“That is my mess to clean up,” Glorfindel sighed, pushing himself up.

“No, Fin. Our mess. I will care for the er, deposit, as I know precisely where it is needed. You go on your run, and Káno and I will then look at the plow.”

“Correction,” Fingon said. “Eres, you check the plow, because I would not know what I am looking at. I will oil the harness, because I know where it is and how to do that. Then we will see where the day takes us.” Rising, he pulled Glorfindel against him and into a deep kiss. “I love you with my whole heart, and I want to see you on the back of that horse, flying like the wind. Will you do that for me?” 

“Yes,” came the whispered reply. “Love you, too.”

Erestor placed an arm over Glorfindel’s shoulders, to guide him out the door. The fresh pile had missed the doormat--but only just. “Ah. You and I, and some shit. Reminds me of several council meetings in Rivendell.”

Glorfindel burst into laughter, as Erestor hoped he might. The sparkle and light returned to his eyes. “No comment.” With a running start, he vaulted to Asfaloth’s waiting back, a huge smile lighting his countenance. In a moment, the stallion raced off. 

“For the look on his face, I can ignore this,” Fingon remarked, wrinkling his nose slightly at the proximity of the manure to his doormat.  “Alright, perhaps not ignore, but at least lovingly locate a shovel.”

Erestor shrugged. “Shit happens.”

Nodding sagely, Fingon regarded the pile that had already attracted a few flies. “You will rarely hear me say this, but this shit was worth it.”

Erestor slipped his hand into Fingon’s, as they watched Glorfindel’s golden hair streaming out behind him. “Worth it,” the dark beauty echoed in agreement. From the distance, a cry of exultation reached their ears.

“So worth it,” Fingon smiled, kissing Erestor’s head before leading him off to the stable.


End file.
